The Task
by ImmortalObsession
Summary: Two years ago, Dumbledore gave Hermione a mission, and the time has finally come for her to complete it. Leaving the War behind, she goes back to 1943 to tamper with the timeline and save the future. However, a certain teenage Dark Lord keeps interfering with her plans, and he's not the Dark Lord she was sent to destroy - or fall for. AU/lemons/not the average time travel fic. Dark
1. Step One

**AN: Hi guys! I know I haven't been on fanfic in for like _forever, _but I've really been wanting to write a TRHG fic and have been toying with this idea for some time. Thanks for reading. **

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Her mission began at midnight.

OK, mission sounds overdramatic. Maybe "task" fits the description better? After all, Hermione wasn't James Bond. She was just a witch at Hogwarts who had been assigned a very difficult and possibly dangerous homework assignment. Right.

She checked her watch. 11:58.

She didn't know why she had to wait until midnight, only that Dumbledore told her to do so two years ago, the night after the DA went to the Ministry to save Sirius. Sirius, who was dead now. Harry had been possessed by Voldemort that night. That was when things were set in motion for Hermione, for the whole Wizard World. When Dumbledore gave her the task.

She wondered if he counted on being dead by the time she set out to complete it. On everyone being dead.

11:59.

Her heart beat a little faster and she straightened her new outfit out to give her shaky hands something to do. It was the Hogwarts uniform – not the present version, but the '40s style that was meant to help her blend in. In the Hogwarts of 1943. More than _fifty_ years ago.

She really hoped she didn't mess this up.

Midnight. She picked up the Time Turner Dumbledore had placed back in her possession and tried to forget all the terrible things she'd seen, the things she'd done and people she had sacrificed. Ron in the Chamber of Secrets retrieving the Basilisk fangs. Harry, who was now making his way out of Hogwarts to meet Voldemort for the last time and unaware that she was not fighting with the others, but in the library readying for a quick exit. She had to hide it all deep inside her, away from any prying eyes or practiced Leglimens – or else she'd fail.

Eyes clenched shut, she twisted the Time Turner once, then twice, then again and again. The muffled sounds of battle and careening spells faded away, replaced by footsteps and soft chattering and the thunk of a book being replaced on a shelf. Suddenly, the Turner stopped twisting and it was quiet except for her own breathing. Was she here?

Hermione opened her eyes. She was still in the same library, but the lights were on and not blasted out by a misled _diffindo. _Outside of her aisle, she could see people milling around and sitting at tables and talking. An old witch with wiry gray hair and huge glasses was checking out someone's books.

She'd done it!

Her victory was short, however, as she had to find the Headmaster of this time straight away. Headmaster Dippet, she recalled from her extensive research. Until she met him no one else could see her, not even Dumbledore – yet.

She took out her seemingly small handbag and whipped out Harry's Invisibility Cloak, which she'd nicked from him when he wasn't looking. He wouldn't need it anyway, seeing as he hadn't been born yet. Unseen, Hermione left the library, slipping out the double doors when a fourth year came in and taking one of Fred and George's shortcuts to the Headmaster's Office. _Can't be too careful, _she thought.

Once the gargoyles guarding the entrance to said office loomed into sight she started to pull off the Cloak, but froze when she saw a tall dark-haired boy followed by a group of Slytherins coming down the hall. She retreated into the shadows, frowning. He was wearing the shiny Head Boy badge. But who was the Head Boy in 1943? _Think, think, think!_

However, the name didn't come to her until he had turned away from the pale blonde-haired boy next to him and looked right past her. _Tom Riddle._

Harry's description of his enemy from the time he had seen his Horcrux in the Chamber of Secrets and looked into Slughorn's memory fit this boy perfectly, leaving Hermione no room for doubt as she stared at him. He was darkly handsome with his perfectly parted black hair, knife-sharp cheekbones, and obsidian eyes. The perfect manipulator with those archangel looks, silver tongue, and quick wit.

Hermione almost couldn't resist him. _Almost. _

But since she wasn't here for Tom Riddle, she forced her eyes to move away from his misleading appearance to assess the rest of the group. The boy beside him had white blonde hair and glacial blue eyes that were so easy to place she wondered how she hadn't seen it before; this of course was Abraxas Malfoy. The rest of Tom Riddle's cronies moved by her too fast for her to recognize them, although she did see a girl with rat-like features in the mix. But of course they strode right by her, where she stood they didn't see anything expect the stone wall and knight behind her. She'd have to figure out who to avoid later.

When they had disappeared she took off the Cloak and stashed it, readjusting her seamless outfit before marching up to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore had told her the password already, so she murmured "Mr. McGregor" before the gargoyles could say a word and stepped onto the suddenly moving spiral staircase.

Before her, the office seemed much bigger and plainer without all of Dumbledore's strange trinkets and gadgets in it. However, the portraits were still there – minus two. Behind the wide mahogany desk Dumbledore usually sat at a sleepy-looking wizard was standing up and staring at her in shock and indignation. "Miss, h-how did you get in here?" he sputtered. "Students cannot enter without an appointment!"

Hermione smiled at him, just the way she practiced it. _Here we go._

"Hello Headmaster Dippet," she said, moving forward to shake his hand. As soon as she touched him his expression went slack, his eyes wide and glassy. "Sit down." He did. "I believe you received and approved my application to Hogwarts about a month ago. I'm Hermione Granger, the transfer student from Beauxbatons. I was supposed to get here earlier, but only just arrived due to a complication with timing. I also lost my schedule. Could I have a new copy? I'll be taking advanced Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Magical Theory, and Ancient Runes."

"Defense against the Dark Arts is required, Miss Granger," Headmaster Dippet mumbled dazedly.

She kept her smile firmly in place, although it may have faltered slightly at the corners. "That's fine. I don't like Magical Theory much anyway." She squeezed his withered hand one more time – just in case – before pulling away. Dippet's expression cleared, like a break in the clouds.

"I like Muggle fairytales, too, Headmaster. _Ils sont enchantés_," she added, as if she hadn't just tinkered with the head of Hogwarts' brain.

"You do?" he said delightedly and placed his elbows on his desk, regarding her thoughtfully over his steepled fingers. "I usually keep my appreciation for Muggle fairy lore a secret, you know. I can't have something like that floating around when Grindelwald is on the rise." It was a serious statement, but he said it with a little smile. "Maybe I'll change the password to _Kensington Gardens _next time, eh?"

"Maybe."

His smile became more pronounced. "Well, I just know you'll be an excellent addition to Hogwarts, Miss Granger." He waved his wand and a paper appeared out of thin air, gently floating toward her. She grabbed it and glanced over the contents. Her schedule. "There you are, my dear. I assume you have your supplies also?"

"Yes, sir. Everything."

"Excellent!"

Just then the sound of grinding stone and footsteps issued from behind them. Dippet's eyes looked past her and his white eyebrows rose in surprise. "Hello Albus. How may I help you?"

Hermione stiffened. She hadn't counted on meeting Dumbledore until – she checked her schedule – her third class tomorrow! What was she going to do now?

Behind her, the Dumbledore of 1943 was cheerily saying "…you have a teacher's conference in the third wing in five seconds or so. I was just stopping by to remind you, Headmaster."

Dippet looked even more surprised and got to his feet surprisingly fast for a 78-year old man. "Oh dear, I completely forgot! My brain goes as I get older, unfortunately…" He scrambled around the desk, shaking Hermione's hand hastily as he rushed past her. "Ah, Albus, would you mind sorting Miss Granger here into a house? I was going to do it, but it seems I – ah – am previously engaged!"

Pasting her smile back in place, Hermione turned around to face Dumbledore. She tried not to look as shocked as she felt by his auburn hair and trimmed beard. Dumbledore was a redhead?

He regarded her with a smile as well, his blue eyes twinkling. "I would not mind at all, Headmaster," he said. His brow furrowed slightly. "But I am afraid I wasn't aware we were expecting a new student?"

"It must have slipped my mind," Headmaster Dippet said absently, searching for his wand in the confusing folds of his black robes. "She was supposed to arrive earlier, but there was a complication in her travels." At this he paused to smile at Hermione empathetically.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, nodding sagely. "That is a shame. I hope it was not too large an inconvenience, Miss Granger?"

"Not at all, Professor," Hermione said smilingly. She was starting to lose all feeling in her cheeks.

"Well, I will see both of you at dinner. Good luck, Miss Granger!" Dippet nodded at Dumbledore. "Albus." And he hurried out of the room.

Hermione swallowed. "So, what's the sorting for?"

Dumbledore strode over to a shelf filled with dusty books and old trophies. On the top shelf, the Sorting Hat sat looking very much like a giant, tattered black sock. As Dumbledore retrieved it he said, "The sorting is used to assign students to different houses, such as Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. It usually occurs on the first day here at Hogwarts, but seeing as that was a few weeks ago we'll just hold a miniature ceremony for you here." He winked at her. "Ready, Miss Granger?"

She schooled her features into a shy, unsure expression. "I suppose…"

He placed the Sorting Hat – which didn't look at all like a giant sock now – on her head. The rip that was its sly mouth instantly yawned open. Words whispered inside her head.

_"Hello, Miss Granger. Welcome to Hogwarts! How do you like it here so far?"_

"It's nice enough, but I haven't seen much yet," she answered promptly.

_"Sure you haven't," _the voice chuckled. She imagined the Sorting Hat winking at her knowingly. _"Let's see…which house do you belong in? Definitely not Hufflepuff. Perhaps Ravenclaw? You're definitely smart enough, but you have too much fire in your spirit to keep a cool head. So is it Gryffindor?"_

"Yes!"

_"Eager, eh? Oh I don't know. You could be a real Slytherin princess given the chance, couldn't you? I saw what you did to the Headmaster. How cunning of you…"_

"Not cunning, necessary," she disagreed. "I had to do it, I didn't _like _it."

_"Still, it's a tough decision."_

Ugh! This wasn't part of her plan. She was to arrive at Hogwarts unseen, meet Dippet, enroll as a student, and be sorted into Gryffindor. How hard was that? It had sorted her into Gryffindor once already!

_"Oh, have I?" _the Sorting Hat said with glee. _"Well, I never do the same thing twice. I'm a hat after all, so repetition must be avoided at all costs lest I get bored."_

Desperately, Hermione said, "Wait a second!"

"_SLYTHERIN!" _the Sorting Hat roared.

Dumbledore, who had been watching her closely, grinned and plucked the Hat off her head. Her hair had frizzed terribly underneath, she found when she reached up to touch it. She bit back a growl. _Great, more things I have to fix later._

"Congratulations, Miss Granger," he said and tapped her shoulder with his wand twice. Her robes turned from black to green with a silver trim. She thought they looked ugly. "Professor Slughorn is your Head of House and man to go to should you have any questions or concerns, other than myself or Headmaster Dippet of course." With a flick of his wand, the Sorting Hat zoomed back into place on the shelf. "Dinner begins soon and I must admit I _am _getting quite hungry. Why don't we go to the Great Hall? You can get acquainted with your housemates and settle in. Perhaps I can even find a student to help you around the castle your first few days."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione forced herself to say, still steaming from being placed in Slytherin. "I would appreciate that very much."

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**AN: So did you like it? Leave a review and let me know if I should continue! X)**


	2. Complications

**AN: Wow, guys! Thank you so much for the awesome reviews and favorites. You all rock. For this story, I do hope to stray away from most other Tomione fics out there (all of those time travel fics start to look the same after a while, don't they?) and hopefully this one mixes it up a bit. P.S.: The Task is definitely a DarkTom fic (and maybe even a dark Hermione fic...hinthint). This is a quick update and the others probably won't be as speedy, but I should update at least 2-3 times per week. Thanks for reading!**

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Dumbledore led them out of the office, down several winding halls and the moving staircases until they reached the Great Hall. Just outside the great oak doors he turned back to look at Hermione. She stared up at him with wide brown eyes, as if they'd just taken a very confusing trip and she had no idea how she would ever get around without him.

"This is the Great Hall, Miss Granger. Inside all the way on the right is the Slytherin table, where you may sit with your housemates," he said. "I will see you tomorrow in Transfiguration. Good luck!"

He opened the doors and stood back to let her pass, but she stood rooted to the spot for a moment. Before her the hall was filled with happy students, shouting and chatting and piling food on their plates. The last time she'd seen this hall it had been a battle zone, filled with jets of green and red light, screams, blood, _his _voice...

"Don't worry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore whispered at the petrified look on her face. "You'll be just fine."

Well, yes. But that wasn't why she was scared.

However, she nodded and smiled at him shakily. "Thank you, Professor."

Hermione moved past him and let the shy new girl façade peel away, glancing around the hall and finding the Slytherins quickly. She started toward them, although the table of red-and-gold on the opposite side of the hall was calling to her.

As she walked toward the table she assessed all the people sitting there. There was Abraxas Malfoy, Regulus Black, Vincent Crabbe Sr., Gregory Goyle Sr., Felix Dolohov, Ernie Johnson, Elfaba Wictz, and a number of other faces she unfortunately didn't remember from the 1943 yearbook she had spent hours poring over in preparation (but then, she had concentrated on the Gryffindors, who she _thought _she'd be getting to know by now). And of course, there was Tom Riddle, sitting in the midst of the few Slytherins she could name like a king surrounded by his subjects.

Or a Dark Lord.

She had to remind herself as she made her way toward them not to hex that deceptively handsome face into oblivion, not to pounce him while his head was turned the other way, as he smiled charmingly at the fools around him as if he wasn't a murderer already- _Stop it! _

She took a deep breath and sat at the end of the table, on the opposite side of Riddle and his cronies where only the Slytherins surrounding her could cast her questioning looks. At the front of the hall where the professors all ate Headmaster Dippet stood, clapping his hands for attention. Unlike Dumbledore, who commanded attention effortlessly, it took Dippet a few minutes to get the students to calm down.

Hermione smiled behind her pumpkin juice.

"Everyone, quiet down please! Quiet down!" Seeing that the majority was silent, he continued, "We have a new student tonight here at Hogwarts, who has come all the way from Beauxbatons in France. Her name is Hermione Granger and she has already been sorted into Slytherin-" There was a general mix of cheers and boos at this, followed by several heads at her new table turning to stare at her blatantly. "Please treat her with kindness and respect during her first days at Hogwarts, and make this new student feel right at home-" At this point his voice was drowned out as the students lost attention and returned to their conversations, talking animatedly to each other. Eventually Dippet gave into defeat and sank back down, flushing.

"So, you're Hermione Granger, huh?" a black girl with long hair and an upturned nose said across from her.

"Yes," Hermione replied, extending her hand. "And you are?"

"Meredith Smith," she said sniffily, not taking Hermione's hand, which she let drop to the table emptily. "I've never heard of any Grangers before. What are you, a Mudblood?"

_And here we go. _

"As a matter of fact, I am," Hermione said coolly, her face expressionless as Meredith's quickly contorted with disgust. "Do you have a problem with that, Smith?"

Meredith's eyes narrowed at the food on her plate, which she was staring at intently now, but she simply pressed her lips together and pretended Hermione wasn't there. _Fine with me, _Hermione thought, her eyes flickering around the rest of the table, whose occupants hadn't taken note of the exchange and already lost interest in her.

Excellent.

With only five minutes left until dinner was officially over half the hall was vacant and the Slytherin table only had three students remaining, not including herself. Tom Riddle, that Elfaba girl who was pretty but had an annoying air about her, and some third year boy with a bad case of acne. Hermione wasn't sure what to do. She knew how to get to the dungeons, but that would look suspicious since she shouldn't know where _anything _was. Plus, she didn't know the password.

Just as she was mulling over this new predicament Dumbledore and Slughorn arrived. Slughorn looked as round and jovial as ever, Dumbledore was calm and collected next to him.

Behind them all, Tom Riddle's eyes snapped up to watch Dumbledore.

"Hello again, Miss Granger," Dumbledore introduced. "This is Professor Slughorn, your Head of House."

"Nice to meet you, Professor," Hermione said, shaking Slughorn's pudgy hand. But with so many people around – especially Dumbledore – she didn't dare send a thought into his head. That would have to wait until later.

"Likewise, Miss Granger! I look forward to your performance in Potions," Slughorn said smilingly. "Now, as I understand it, you need some assistance around the school."

"Well, yes but-"

"Wonderful! I know the perfect man for the job-"

"Horace, why not have Miss Longbottom show Miss Granger around?" Dumbledore suggested.

Slughorn frowned. "Miss Longbottom is in Gryffindor. I'm sure a Slytherin would be much more helpful to her, seeing as they'd be part of her house." Now he turned to Hermione. "Don't you agree, Miss Granger?"

Oh great, she was cornered. She knew whatever – or _who_ever – Slughorn was suggesting couldn't be a good idea if Dumbledore was against it, but she didn't have a choice now. Hating that wretched Sorting Hat, she reluctantly said, "I suppose, Professor."

Dumbledore sighed.

"Wonderful!" Slughorn boomed, looking down at her approvingly. "Tom, m'boy, would you come here?"

Wait_, _what? Tom Riddle? Oh no, no, no, no. That is _not _okay. She couldn't be escorted around by the Dark Lord, for Godric's sake! She glared daggers at the back of Slughorn's head for a second before smoothing her expression into one of faint interest – but inside she was all fury. What an _idiot! _He was completely trashing her plan!

"Of course, Professor," she heard a smooth baritone say from numerous feet away, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.

_I will kill you, Horace Slughorn._

When Riddle – Riddle! – had arrived before them Slughorn turned back to Hermione and threw a huge arm across the teenage Dark Lord's shoulders, making him stumble slightly and blink those dark eyes in surprise. Dumbledore was expressionless.

He probably wanted to have a go at Slughorn, too.

"Miss Granger, this is the Head Boy Tom Riddle. He is an excellent student and has been the top of his class ever since his first year. If you need any help in your classes, I'm sure he would be happy to assist you. Wouldn't you, Tom?"

'Tom', who wasn't even looking at her but discreetly studying Dumbledore, met Slughorn's gaze briefly and smiled. "Of course, Professor," he murmured silkily.

Liar.

"Now, I know this is a large school," Slughorn continued painstakingly, "but Tom here will take you to all your classes for the first few days so that you don't get lost. I'm sure you two will get along swimmingly."

_Oh, _someone_ will be swimming with the fishies all right,_ Hermione thought menacingly. On the outside though, she smiled too.

"Well, I bid you two good night," Slughorn concluded. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Granger."

Before they left Dumbledore said, "Goodnight Miss Granger." He shot an indecipherable look at Riddle and nodded politely. "Mr. Riddle."

Looking around them, Hermione suddenly realized they were the only two left in the hall. She forced herself to stay calm. There was no reason to panic. Sure, he'd already murdered an innocent girl and opened the Chamber of Secrets, but he was also pulling off an act. On the surface he was a charming school boy, top of his class and easy on the eyes, but on the inside Hermione knew he was twisted, dark. Ugly.

He met her eyes. They were brown and doe-like.

She couldn't get a read on his. They were blank, soft velvet and entrancing as a black hole – they sucked you right in, but didn't let you out… _He's a Leglimens! _she remembered and looked away. If she had to spend any time at all with him she preferred to get it over with fast and not mess up any other parts of her plan. She wasn't even supposed to _look _at Tom Riddle, as the Dumbledore of her time had severely instructed, and here she was–

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione," Riddle said, smiling a close-lipped smile and holding out his hand for her to shake.

"You also, Mr. Riddle," Hermione said, not showing a hint of the malice brewing behind closed doors inside her, and gave her his hand. He didn't shake it however, but lifted it to those lips that weren't chalky or cruel at all, and gazed up at her through his long lashes as he did it. So sly. So smooth. So… manipulative.

She looked away, not seeing the flash of surprise on his face.

He straightened, letting her go. She resisted the urge to wipe her hand off on her skirt.

"Call me Tom, please." He smiled at her again. "Now if you'll follow me I'll take you to the Slytherin common room where your dorm is."

She nodded and he led them out of the hall, walking with an easy grace and ramrod-straight posture. As they navigated the giant castle, taking twists and turns she already knew by heart Hermione thought of ways to get out of this terrible situation. She couldn't ask him to totally ignore Slughorn's request and leave her to find her classes herself, that would just make her seem strange and probably draw his attention. Maybe if she stayed silent, she thought hopefully, he would think her boring and leave her alone after this was all over.

"You are from Beauxbatons," he said eventually, not a question but a statement.

"Yes."

"Your accent is…subtle." He glanced at her swiftly, analyzing her face for any shifts of emotion but saw none. She simply shrugged and said, "I suppose."

He looked ahead of them again. She was glad. "What do you think of Hogwarts so far?"

"It's nice enough, but I haven't seen much of it yet," she said, the exact thing she said to the Sorting Hat.

"Understandably," he agreed, nodding.

Inside she let out a sigh of relief. They were almost there and soon all this would be behind her and Tom Riddle would see that she was just a witch. Not at all special. Muggleborn, in fact.

"Well, here we are," he said, coming to a stop before a long stone wall. "The password is _pure-blood_." Hermione bit back a scoff – how typical – and just as he said it the wall slid back to reveal the Slytherin common room, which was bedecked in leather couches, dark wood paneling, and green and silver furnishings. It was very industrial-looking for the '40s, she thought as they entered.

It was mostly empty inside since it was so late, sans the two fifth years playing Wizard's chess in the corner. Riddle came to a stop before two staircases going in opposite directions. "This is the common room, as you can see," he said. "You can hang out here, do homework, chat with friends…whichever. This staircase on the right-" he gestured gracefully. "-leads to the boy's dorms. The one on the left is for the girls obviously. Do you have any questions?"

Quickly, she tried to think of something a new student might ask. The best she could come up with was "Do you sleep in the boy dormitory too, since your Head Boy?"

He raised a brow at that and she pretended not to notice, examining the room around them. Why the hell did she ask him where he slept? She could've asked _anything _else! He probably thought she had a crush on him and wanted to keep track of him or something. _Great_.

"No, Head Boy and Head Girl have their own private dormitory. Anything else?"

She glanced at him, looked away, and shook her head.

"I will see you tomorrow morning, outside the common room at eight o' clock sharp for breakfast and to escort you to your classes." Not a question, or even an invitation, Hermione noted – just an order. "Is that clear Hermione?" he added, more sharply.

She looked at him for the first time since in the Great Hall, expecting to see anger or even impatience staining his aristocratic features, but he looked as impassive and calm as ever. _Strange… _"Crystal, _Mr. Riddle_," she said coolly, perhaps a bit icily, and averted her eyes again. That angered him. Why wouldn't the insolent girl look at him?

He narrowed his eyes at her and Hermione knew she had made a mistake. No one could see them back here, especially not those two students playing chess, and the Dark Lord had always been very temperamental, even in her time. What was his anger like when he was an adolescent?

However, he didn't whip out his wand and cast a _Crucio! _at her. Instead he simply leaned in close to her, so close they were breathing the same air and she smelled his scent, which was rich like chocolate and wood and made her heady. She pulled her head back, trying to put some space between them, but it didn't help seeing as it just made him seem taller and all the more intimidating.

She gasped when she felt one of his fingers drawing down her throat slowly, the rest curling around the back of her neck. Was he going to choke her to death?

Staring deep into her suddenly wide eyes, he whispered, "You know, you're awfully pretty, but that smart mouth-" Here he squeezed the back of her neck so sharply she yelped. "-might get you into trouble."

She swallowed. "S-sorry."

His grip loosened from its death grip and he smiled slightly, but it was not at all like the smile he'd given her a few minutes ago. This one was dangerous. "Your pulse is racing," he said, a look of angelic concern plaguing his features. "Are you feeling alright, Hermione?"

She shut her eyes, opting not to answer.

His jaw twitched. She wasn't looking at him again, not even responding! What was her problem? _No_ _one_ ever ignored him.

"Besides, I thought I told you to call me Tom," he said, his voice soft and sweet again and not at all betraying the anger he'd held a second ago.

She opened her eyes. That was better.

"Right," Hermione said, smiling shakily and rubbing her neck when he'd released her.

He raised a dark brow.

She cleared her throat. "Tom," she added, hating him inside. Damn Dumbledore for telling her not to interfere with him. Damn Slughorn for making her in the first place! What she really wanted to do was curse him into a world of pain…

He smiled and took her hand again, starting to bring it to his mouth but then changing his mind and putting his lips on her cheek instead. They felt smooth and tickled her skin when he spoke. "Goodnight, Hermione. You're going to feel right at home here." He pulled away and watched with satisfaction as the girl shivered at his words. Much, much better.

Shuddering, Hermione made a quick escape up the stairs to her new dormitory, not looking back once although she felt Riddle's dark eyes on her even after she shut the door. She clutched her ratcheting heart and groaned.

Her plan was fucked.

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**AN: Uh-oh, looks like Hermione is in trouble with Mr. Riddle already. _Tsk tsk, Miss Granger, when will you ever learn?_ ;) Drop a review if you have any ideas on what that dashing Dark Lord was thinking... **


	3. A Despicable Concoction

When Hermione woke up the next morning, earlier than the rest of the girls, she had come up with a new plan that was much more concrete than the first. This would get Tom Riddle off her back _and_ setthe task in motion. She hoped.

After a quick shower and getting dressed in her uniform she gave herself a mental pep talk before going downstairs to meet _him. _She couldn't let him get to her like that again, and while she didn't know what it was she did that angered him so in the first place she couldn't do it again. Not if she was going to get him to leave her alone, to forget she ever existed.

She cracked her knuckles and checked her watch. 7:58. Time to go.

She shrugged on her robes and grabbed her schoolbag, going downstairs to the common room which was very _un-_empty in the morning and filled with numerous Slytherins draped over the couches and conversing in secretive, hushed tones. She slipped past all of them, ignoring the evil glare Meredith sent her way when she passed her, and exited the dungeons.

Outside an impeccable Tom Riddle was waiting for her. He smiled at her arrival and she almost believed he was happy to see her for whatever reason, until she remembered who he was. What game he was playing at.

"Good morning, Hermione," he greeted, starting the walk to the Great Hall.

"Tom," she said tranquilly.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes." Well enough anyway, if she didn't count the nightmares. At least she wasn't sleeping in a tent anymore. "And you?" she forced herself to say.

"I slept well, thank you. " He smirked at that for some reason. "Are you looking forward to your classes?" he asked politely.

"Yes actually."

He was slightly surprised at that. Since when did girls (or anyone besides him for that matter) look forward to class? He shook it off as unimportant.

"Do you have your schedule with you?" he continued.

She looked at him warily. "Yes."

"Let me see it."

Again with the commands. Hermione sighed internally, but flicked her wand and her schedule came zooming out of her bag into her hands. She knew better than to anger him now. Silently, she handed the paper to him. They arrived at the Great Hall just then. He opened the door for her and she was surprised for a split second before remembering what century she was in. Chivalry and gallantry hadn't died just yet, had it?

She started to head to her seat, pretending to forget that Riddle had her schedule for the sake of a quick getaway, but was forced to stop when he cleared his throat. "Hermione, where are you going?" he asked and it was clear by his tone that he was amused.

"To eat breakfast, of course," she said, smiling at him tightly. What the hell did he want now? He was a Dark Lord in the making, didn't he have better things to do than coerce with 'weaklings'?

His brows rose and – damn him – she couldn't help but realize how completely irresistible he looked even this early in the morning. It wasn't fair. "Well, you will eat breakfast next to me. I'll even introduce you to my friends, if you'd like," he said, as if he were doing her a favor, and promptly led them to his side of the table.

_Friends? Don't you mean your insane, mass murderer Death Eaters! _Hermione thought furiously.

She sat beside him after he'd made an unwilling Abraxas scoot over for her. A seat down Elfaba – or _Elfy _as the others called her – was glaring daggers at her. Maybe, Hermione thought, he would just ignore her and talk to his little minions.

She was wrong.

Twenty minutes later, after he'd finished chatting to his minions, Riddle turned to her. "Hm… This is quite the schedule you have Hermione," he said thoughtfully as she ate an apple. "Advanced Potions and Ancient Runes are very difficult courses. Are you sure you can handle it?" He sounded kind on the outside, but she knew he was mocking her.

"I was top of my class at Beauxbatons so yes, I think I can handle it," she said tartly.

There was some nervous laughter at the table, for everyone had been watching her and the King of Snakes closely ever since she sat down, but it was quickly eclipsed when Riddle cast a sharp look about them.

"Perhaps we should leave early, Hermione," Riddle said softly. "I wouldn't want you to be late to class on your first day."

She froze, the apple in her mouth suddenly tasting like ash. She'd done it again, hadn't she? Pissed him off. She glanced at Dumbledore longingly, who was sitting at the staff table and talking to the Herbology professor. _Save me, _she thought, but alas, she did not have telepathy and was on her own_. _When she looked back at Riddle he was already standing up, staring at her with a cocked brow.

Was that pity in Regulus' eyes?

She picked up her bag and stood, chin held high, and followed Riddle out of the hall. She'd planned on telling him she would find her own way to class, that she was sorry for inconveniencing him and really would be fine by herself, but the words died on her lips as soon as they were alone.

He was walking fast. She had to struggle to keep up.

"Erm, Ri-" He gave her a look. "I mean, Tom," she said quickly. "Where are we going?"

"To your first class of course, Potions." He pulled back a blue-and-yellow tapestry hanging on the stone wall, revealing a secret pathway lit by torches that went Merlin knows where.

"I'm not going down there," Hermione said firmly.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to kill you or anything. It's just a shortcut."

_Oh, I doubt that. _

But because she wasn't supposed to have a reason not to trust him, to hate him with every fiber of her being and doubt him even more, she stepped inside. Behind her the heavy swoosh of the tapestry falling back into place was followed by Riddle's breath on her neck. She stiffened. "I thought you said you weren't going to kill me," she said, attempting lightness but failing miserably.

He chuckled, his fingers playing at the side of her neck again. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth with a gasp. "Of course not, Hermione. I don't have any good reason to."

Fingers trembling, she reached up to cover her hand with his. She hated not being able to see him, not knowing what he might do next. "Don't…" she started, but didn't finish. Don't what? Don't choke me? Don't _Crucio _me? Don't look so good but be so evil?

His fingers flexed under hers and he laughed again, so softly and quietly it sounded more like the gentle rasp of rustling sheets. "Don't what? There's fifteen more minutes until class starts, Hermione."

Her insides turned to ice. She was done for.

"And…" His other hand came over her rib, clenching it for just a painful second, and her free hand flew over that one too. "You were very rude to me at breakfast."

She closed her eyes. She couldn't hear anything out there. Could they hear anything in here? "You made me angry," she whispered.

"Ditto."

She scratched at the hand on his neck desperately and he spun her around, shoving her into the wall behind her. "Ouch!" she wheezed when her spine smacked the stone and suddenly Riddle was wearing a look of apology so convincing and angelic she almost believed it. He even stroked her hair.

"My apologies, Hermione, but I don't usually let anyone push me around and I have been very…_lenient…_with you since you are new. However, I had to make sure you understood the way it works here." His eyes were endless, compelling her to bend to his twisted symmetry. She looked away and stared at a crack in the ground to keep _herself _from cracking. "Doyou understand?" he asked.

"Yes."

He pinched her again and she squirmed, head whipping back up to serve him a piercing glare. "Yes, I understand, _Tom_," she hissed.

That look, full of fury and righteousness, should have angered him further, but it did the exact opposite. He hadn't seen _that _side of her before and it piqued him. Why was she so different than the other girls? And what was it that made Dumbledore watch her through all of dinner and breakfast? What made him give a flying fuck about her at all? She was braver than his Death Eaters, that was for sure, and she had an air of secrecy that put all his senses on high alert. She defied him constantly and there was something about this girl that told him the face she was wearing wasn't a real one. Something a lot like…

Him.

But no, no one was like Tom Riddle.

"Can we go now?" she said impatiently, interrupting his thoughts. "I'd like to get to class on time and it will look suspicious if both of us don't show up."

At this he grinned at her and propped his elbow on the wall right beside her head, looking down at her with a cocked brow. "You say that like we have something to hide." His smile turned wicked. "Should we?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," Hermione replied, straightening and wiping off her pleated skirt.

"If you say so." Riddle shrugged and stood. "Follow me." And just like that, he was commanding her again like some king bossing around his subjects. His robes billowed around him with his sharp movements and once again Hermione was struggling to keep up with his long strides. She didn't understand him. One second he was issuing death threats, the next teasing her, and then he was suddenly cold and dominative again.

But, she supposed, no one ever did understand the Dark Lord.

Once they reached the end of the tunnel, which was relatively small, Riddle walked straight through what looked like another stone wall. Hesitantly, she followed suit and gasped when she popped out of the other side – right in front of the Potions room.

Now why hadn't _she _ever known about that?

"Wow, is this the Potions room?" she asked, not having to fake the surprise left over from walking right through the wall.

"Yes, our first class," Riddle confirmed, entering the room.

Oh.

Wait, _what?_

She scrambled in after him, hurrying past the warming cauldrons and already seated students. She grabbed his arm halfway down the aisle and he turned around, staring down at her with a raised brow. "What do you mean _our _class_?_" she demanded.

"I mean, yours and my Potions class." He smirked. "Your English isn't quite up to scratch, is it, _ma chère_?" He flicked her nose lightly. She was vividly aware of the curious stares trained on them.

"I speak English very well, thank you," she sniffed, stepping out of his reach and moving around him to sit at the only empty seat in class. Hopefully her partner was at least half-decent.

A moment later with the materials written on the board in hand, Riddle appeared beside her.

_You've got to be kidding me._

At her despairing look, he smirked.

She wanted to smack his mouth off that sinfully good-looking face.

Hermione looked up as Slughorn stepped forward to start the class, missing the several glares directed at her by the girls who had been watching her exchange with Tom Riddle. "Happy Monday!" he boomed, rubbing his hands together and grinning. "Today, we will be preparing a _hate_ potion." At this, Hermione straightened. _Yes, _this was exactly what Dumbledore had told her would happen! This was the first real step toward-

"Now, I know most of you are familiar with the brewing of a love potion, which cancels out the effects of a hate potion and vice versa, but can anyone tell me what the Despicable Concoction is?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air, a mere second before Tom's did. Slughorn looked surprised – as did Tom – but pleased, and called on her.

"The Despicable Concoction ostensibly causes the drinker to despise the person whose name is whispered to the potion. However, real hatred cannot be produced through artificial means, and thus the feelings that the Despicable Concoction create are more like extreme avoidance than real detestation. The effect any hate potion has will also wear off over time, and the Despicable Concoction is a potion that can be very easily turned into Amorentia by accident during brewing," she rattled off.

"Yes, yes wonderful, Miss Granger! Five points for Slytherin," Slughorn said thrillingly. "Now, onto the actual brewing…"

Ten minutes later everyone in class except for Riddle and Hermione had split up to gather their ingredients, which Riddle had already gotten and was preparing. Hermione adjusted the flame beneath the cauldron and flipped open to the right page in their book, reading it twice before joining Riddle, who had already started.

"Are you finished yet?" Riddle said in a slightly amused, slightly annoyed voice when she finally looked up.

"I guess," she said, pretending to peer at the book again, but Riddle speedily flicked his yew wand at it and it snapped shut inches away from her nose. She glared at him.

Ignoring her look, he said, "I just added the frog heart. Cut the Alithotsy leaves and Valerian roots into 1-inch pieces, I'll add them, and we will be finished."

"Finished?" she said, gaping at him. "But we just started!"

"_You _just started," he corrected, stirring the potion with his wand and watching the bubbling concoction turn soft magenta with attentive eyes. "I, in the meantime, was doing something productive."

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it on second thought. What was the point of arguing with him? she thought exhaustedly. He was a narcissistic, crazy Muggle hater who would one day be the most feared Wizard in the world. There really was no talking sense into Riddle. Silently, she chopped the Althotsy and Valerian leaves, pushing them toward him when she was finished. Minutes later the potion was deep red, like blood. Like the color of Voldemort's eyes.

Hermione shivered, turning away when Slughorn awarded them each ten points for their outstanding work. What was she doing? She wasn't here to earn the best grades and make friends, to be another Hogwarts student. No, she was here to complete the task, to change the future forever… To do that she needed to focus. She needed the hate potion.

She didn't, however, need any help.

* * *

**AN: Hmmm, what does Hermione need that hate potion for? Why does Slughorn like Wednesdays? Why is Tom Riddle SO SEXY? (The world will never know...) Anyway, thanks for your reviews and support, Tomione crackheads. Y'all are the best! *KISSES* BTW, chapters will be get lengthier soon, I pinky swear. I'm just building up to it! **


	4. Step Two

**AN: I really love weekends, especially Saturdays. I get to lay around in bed all day and write and read hot fanfics instead of doing homework - and update! Here's a longer chapter as promised, fellow Tomione addicts, and more progress on Hermione's secret plan. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

When class was almost over Hermione stood and made her way to Slughorn, who had finally stopped checking the students' potions and was seated behind his desk reviewing tomorrow's lesson plan. At the sight of Hermione waiting expectantly before him he looked up and grinned. "Ah, Miss Granger, my new finest potionmaker! Besides good ol' Tom, of course," he added with a wink. "How may I help you, dear girl?"

His hand was lying on his desk. She angled herself so that her back was facing the class and laid hers on top of it. Slughorn's expression quickly changed from joviality to surprise until his wide, round face finally went slack. His eyelids drooped sleepily, but his brown eyes were intent on her every move.

"You need to see me after class, Professor," Hermione said, speaking in a gentle, soothing tone. "It's nothing urgent. You simply need to speak to me about my previous coursework. Tom can wait in the hall."

"Yes, of course he can…" Slughorn mumbled, tongue working confusedly.

"How interesting!" Hermione released his hand and stepped back. "Thank you for explaining the difference between Bundiman Pomade and Beautification Potion, Professor. That really was fascinating."

Slughorn's dazed look had vanished, but was soon replaced by a look of befuddlement. "Ah, yes. It was no trouble at all, Miss Granger…" he said, frowning.

While Hermione had been tampering with the Potion Master's thoughts however Tom Riddle had been up to his own schemes in the back of the classroom. He watched as she placed her arms on Slughorn's desk, flicking her wild curly hair over her shoulder, and leaned forward in such a way her skirt rose ever so slightly. Her legs were long and golden-brown, like butterscotch.

He shook himself. Where was that Moonstone? Ah, that's right. He'd stowed it under his textbook. Pulling it out, he dropped it inside the potion and watched as the Despicable Concoction turned a deeper shade of red. Nearly imperceptible.

Perfect.

Hermione returned to her seat. Riddle was writing an essay on a long, winding scroll of parchment and didn't look talkative in the least. One of his dark brows was furrowed in concentration, wrinkling the skin of his forehead ever so slightly, and visible under the lock of black hair that had fallen out of place. The quill moved quickly and surely in his grasp, which was not at all spider-like like his future self, and in his left hand at his side he held his yew wand readily.

She looked away. His looks weren't real, not really. He may have looked like the perfect boy, but…he was everything but that. Evil.

Why did she even have to remind herself?

When class was dismissed and everyone rushed out, Riddle had neatly rolled up his scroll, packed his bag, and was standing up waiting for her. Any minute now Slughorn will say something, she thought, taking extra-long to pack up.

"Miss Granger!" the man himself boomed, just in time. She nearly showed her relief as he swept toward them, but composed herself just in time when Riddle glanced at her. "I need to speak with you. It's nothing urgent. We simply need to discuss your previous coursework. Tom, you may wait for Miss Granger in the hall."

Riddle, who looked shocked, quickly schooled his features back into that indecipherable mask and smiled charmingly. "Are you sure, Professor? Miss Granger may need-"

"Nonsense," Slughorn interrupted. "She'll be out in a moment. Wait in the hall, please."

Hermione bit back a wicked grin at the look on Riddle's face.

Riddle nodded stiffly, casting her a suspicious look before he exited the classroom quietly. No doubt an interrogation awaited her, but she'd worry about it later.

Once he'd left Slughorn turned to her, suddenly looking very confused. "Now, um, what did we need to discuss again Miss Granger? I am afraid I, uh, forgot."

Behind her back, Hermione surreptitiously twirled her wand and cast a nonverbal _Muffliato _and locking charm on the door_. _She smiled at Slughorn and extended her hand, which he eyed skeptically. "Oh, we were just going to discuss my previous coursework."

"We were? Erm, yes, I suppose…eh….wha…?" His words turned into incoherent slurs when she pressed her hand against his face. She didn't need to shake his hand, any direct contact to skin worked just fine for this particular brand of magic.

"Professor, listen to me closely," she commanded, staring deeply into his glossy eyes. He nodded dumbly. "You do not find me at all suspicious, nor will you ever. After this school year is over, you won't remember my name, much less what I look like or that I ever existed. You find me to be an exceptional student, but you aren't concerned in anything other than my academic life. In fact, you'd much prefer not to probe into my personal business at all. Right?"

"Right."

A sudden idea came to her and she added, on impulse, "You're also going to give me an unlimited access to the Restricted Section pass."

"Yes."

She paused. Was there anything she was missing? No, this would cover her tracks should anything happen to her or go wrong. Time was tricky after all and she couldn't have Slughorn remembering her in fifty years as a previous student, or any of the other teachers aside from Dumbledore. This would ensure her secrecy.

That was one professor down.

Finished, she released him and took down the wards she'd put up, backpedaling to the desk she and Riddle had worked at and pouring some of the potion into a vial before slipping it in her pocket. She left the room before Slughorn could come out of his magic-induced stupor. Outside Riddle was waiting for her.

She didn't think she'd ever get used to that.

"Is our next class the same too?" she sighed.

"No," he said, but seemed distracted by something. And, there was something in his pocket that hadn't been there before. What was that? Before she could figure it out however he had already started the trek to her next class, Herbology, and when they got there he left her at the greenhouse without a word. _He __really must be distracted_, she thought, wondering what schemes could be brewing in his head with a shudder.

Herbology passed without incident. She met Augusta Longbottom, the Head Girl, who just as fiery and opinionated as she was in Hermione's time, and Regulus was in that class too although he didn't talk to her. He mostly just…stared. _Maybe he can't believe I'm still alive,_ Hermione thought, not completely jokingly. When class ended Augusta offered to show her to her next class, but Hermione politely declined, knowing that Riddle would – unfortunately – soon be there. Besides, she had to...stay after class, anyway.

Once she was finished implanting ideas into Mme. Bramble's mind she went to the hall to meet Riddle – but he wasn't there. She frowned. That was strange. Where was he? And what was he up to?

Well, it wasn't as if she _didn't _know how to get to her next class. She'd gone to Hogwarts for the past seven years, after all. And she had Transfiguration with Dumbledore!

She ran all the way there.

Hermione arrived just before class began and luckily found a seat at the very front. There was another empty seat beside her, but she didn't take it. Before beginning his lesson Dumbledore met her eyes and smiled at her, at which point she readily grinned back. The potion vial felt warm in her pocket. Everything was falling into place.

Riddle wasn't at lunch either.

In the Great Hall, Hermione resumed her much preferred seat on the lonely side of the Slytherin table and ate in silence, ignoring the whispers and questioning glances coming from the other Slytherins. Because when she met Abraxas' gaze – Draco Malfoy's _grandfather_ - he grinned and made a lewd gesture at her, eyeing her chest.

She made a note to hex him later.

When lunch was finally over she hurried to DADA. She forgot to pretend to get lost in her haste to get away though and showed up early to the classroom, only to find it empty aside from her new professor. Professor Chanté, she recalled from her research, and took a seat in the front. He was standing behind his desk, sandy blonde hair tousled and shirt un-tucked. He had a strong jaw and was young for a Hogwarts teacher, probably in his early thirties, she noted.

A few minutes later Professor Chanté looked up from his stack of papers, his blue eyes sweeping over the room (which was half-full by now) and bouncing back to her in surprise. He smiled, eyes crinkling, and made his way over to her.

"Hello Hermione," he said, shaking her hand firmly. "Welcome to Hogwarts. You're from Beauxbatons, right?"

"Right. I just arrived yesterday."

"Are you any good at Defense against the Dark Arts?"

"Oh, somewhat…" she said daintily and twirled her hair, snickering inside when she imagined the look on his face if he knew how extensive her experience actually was.

"That's fine," Professor Chanté assured her. "I'm sure you'll catch up in no time. You seem to be a very able witch."

"Er, thank you," she said, surprised.

Mercifully, the bell rang right then and he had to start class. They were learning about vampires – nothing she hadn't already studied before – so Hermione tuned out, her thoughts on Riddle and what he could possibly be doing. But when class ended Hermione realized she had spent the whole period – the whole period! – daydreaming and had completely forgotten to plan her approach to Professor Chanté. She didn't need to worry however, because when she'd packed her things and looked up to search for him he was already staring right at her.

Hermione touched her hair self-consciously. It only got bushy in the summertime now, was she having a bad hair day or something? Oh well.

"Professor, can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.

"Sure you can," he said, leaning back against his desk and grinning at her so that the dimple in his right cheek showed. His sleeves were rolled up. "What d'you need?"

"I forgot the three signs to look for when identifying a hungry vampire," she said, stepping closer to him, and waved her wand at the door. It shut gently. He noticed but didn't say anything. "What were they again?"

"Oh, it's-"

She touched his bare arm. His face went slack.

* * *

Hermione arrived to dinner late, pretending to have gotten lost on the way and to rush into the Hall breathlessly. She walked toward the Slytherin table, waving at Augusta as she passed her seat at the Gryffindor section, and turned her head - to find herself staring straight into Tom Riddle's opaque gaze.

He looked impeccable as always.

Abraxas hadn't needed to be told to move this time so she sat beside Riddle, reaching across the table to spoon food onto her plate. She was itching to ask him what he'd been up to all day, but knew he would never tell her the truth. And why should he? Why should _she_ even ask him? That wasn't part of the plan.

Beside her Riddle spoke. "I apologize for disappearing so suddenly. I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding your classes?"

"No," she said coolly. "Augusta helped me." A bold-faced lie. She was surprised he didn't see through it. _Or did he?_

His eyes flickered across the hall, to the Gryffindor table, and faint surprise registered on his aristocratic features. "I see." They ate in silence for a number of minutes. He, thinking deeply. Hermione, trying to block out the numerous conversations and glances directed at them.

Finally, unable to contain her curiosity anymore, she burst out, "Where were you?" He blinked at her and smirked around his fork. Hermione looked away. How did he make eating _mashed potatoes _look sexy, for Godric's sake? Stupid Dark Lord. Stupid hormones.

Riddle put down the suddenly sensual utensil. "Concerned for me, were you, darling?" he teased. She rolled her eyes. "Actually, I had a meeting with the Prefects I'd forgotten to mention to you," he said smoothly. "The patrols needed rescheduling."

"Ah," she nodded, pushing her peas around her plate. She understood. He was lying to her; he thought she was just as stupid as the rest of his Death Eaters. Anger swelled within her, hot and strong. "Well, if you'll excuse me, Tom, I have a meeting I've also somehow forgotten to mention you," she said and stood, shoving her chair back with a screechy scrape.

She stormed from the Great Hall. Augusta hurried out soon after.

Tom sat frozen. He was shell-shocked, although he didn't show it. His fellow Slytherins were not as skilled in hiding their emotions as he, however, and numerous jaws were threatening to touch the floor. At the dark look on his face though, they shut their traps and looked away hastily.

"Should we follow her, my lord?" Abraxas said quietly, his wand ready. Crabbe and Goyle were already standing up.

"No," Tom said, and the two oafs reluctantly sat back down. Abraxas lowered his wand. "I'll deal with her later," he said smoothly. A seat down, Regulus shivered at what _deal with _might implicate for the new girl. "Should I need your services I will let you know, Abraxas." He smiled chillingly.

"Yes, my lord," Abraxas said dutifully and didn't say another word for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Hermione was stomping down the halls leading to the library when Augusta caught up with her.

"Hey Hermione!" she called after the bushy-haired witch. "Are you alright?"

Hermione turned around, surprised but pleased to see a friendly face. There weren't enough of _those_ around here. "Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, smiling. "Just not very hungry, I guess."

"Oh," Augusta said, but didn't look like she really believed her. "Where are you going?"

"The library." Hermione started walking again, Augusta kept pace.

"Need some company?" Augusta asked, chipper as ever.

Hermione shot her a smile, a genuine one this time. "Sure."

Some hours later when the library had closed and Professor Wiber kicked them out, the two girls were walking down the halls back to their dormitories, chatting.

"You should really come to the next Quidditch game, Hermione," Augusta, who was team captain of the Gryffindors and Head Girl, was saying excitedly. "It's us verse Hufflepuff. Last year they destroyed us, but this time around we're practicing more and I've put together a much better team."

"I'd like that. What day is it?" Hermione said, although she wasn't a very big fan of Quidditch. But if going to Augusta's Quidditch game brought her closer as a friend, she was for it. She needed friends.

"Saturday. Oh look, it's Minerva," Augusta said happily, waving to a severe-looking girl with pin-straight black hair and beady eyes coming down the hall. "Minerva, come here! Meet Hermione Granger."

Minerva, Hermione's future Transfiguration professor and Head of House, stopped before them and regarded her with suspicious eyes. "Augusta, what are you doing milling about with a _Slytherin?"_ she growled.

Hermione was shocked. She always knew McGonagall got very competitive when it came to Quidditch games and house rivalries, but was she really going to hate her just for being a Slytherin?

"I'm not 'milling about' and Hermione's different!" Augusta said hotly, straightening up next to her. "She's cool."

Hermione grinned.

Minerva didn't look convinced. "Well alright," she said slowly and looked back at her with still-slanted eyes. "But try anything funny and I'll know, Granger." She pointed to her badge. "I'm a Prefect." With one last threatening look, she whisked away down the hall, books held closely to her chest and robes swinging.

"And _I'm _Head Girl," Augusta muttered once she had left. "Don't worry about her Hermione, she'll warm up to you eventually. Minerva's just very…opinionated."

Hermione nodded. She hoped so.

"Well, I must be going," Augusta said once she'd brought Hermione to the dungeons she wasn't supposed to know how to get to just yet. "I have patrols and duties and all that jazz." She flashed a toothy grin. "I'll see you in Herbology!"

"Bye!" Hermione watched the girl vanish down the hall before entering the Slytherin common room.

She slipped past the students inside – most of them shot her dark looks and brooding glances anyway - and up to her dormitory. Inside, it was mercifully empty and she hurried to her green-and-silver themed bed and thrust back the hangings, whipping down the wards with a wave of her wand. She put down her school bag, took off her robes, and lifted the mattress to retrieve her beaded bag. She took out Harry's Invisibility Cloak and threw it on, recasting the wards around her bed quickly before going back out.

She'd compelled the teachers; step two was complete.

Now invisible, she swiftly went back downstairs and out the common room. The castle, she noted, was much darker at night despite the torches dotting the stone walls. It felt ominous even.

Slughorn wouldn't be giving her the pass to the Restricted Section until tomorrow, so silently and carefully she navigated the halls back to the library. She didn't see anyone save a few Prefects, but they didn't see or take note of her. A minute later, the door to the library was opening by itself and she was slipping inside, forgetting to shut it behind her.

That was her first mistake.

The library was vast and quiet without all the students filling it and Mme. Wiber screeching for silence. Hermione wasted no time and made a beeline for the Restricted Section, where she would find _Necromancy, An Art Moste Tricky _and books on Horcruxes – and destroy them all. She wasn't here for Tom Riddle, that was true, but it _was _his sixth year, the year he would create his first Horcrux. Burning a few library books – she shuddered at the thought – wouldn't stop him, per se, but it would delay him and that was good enough for her. This was step three of her plan.

In the Restricted Section, she took off the Cloak and pocketed it. "_Lumos,"_ she whispered, lifting her wand, and a bead of light lit the tip of it. She brought it to the books.

After about thirty minutes of searching and only finding one blasted book on Horcruxes she lost patience and waved her wand, uttering, "_Accio Horcrux books _and _Necromacy, An Art Moste Tricky!" _Several books flew off the shelves and toward her, threatening to knock her off her feet, but she waved her wand at them and they froze mid-air for a moment before making a neat stack which she then crammed into her bag. She'd burn them later.

Just as she was about to leave the sound of footsteps suddenly registered on her ears and she froze as a smooth voice – a smooth _familiar _voice – said, "Who's there?"

Oh no. Not _him. _

Heart pounding, she reached into her pocket for the Cloak and watched with wide eyes the direction Tom Riddle's footsteps were coming from. With a little rustle, she donned the Invisibility Cloak and pressed herself back against the bookshelves just as Riddle arrived at the end of the aisle.

She held her breath.

Through the veil-like, shimmery texture of the Cloak she watched as he stalked toward her, lithe and graceful, dragging those long fingers over row after row of bookshelves as he went. Less than foot away from her, he paused and listened intently for sound. He was so close she could reach out and grab his ankle. "I know you're here, Hermione," he said softly, his black eyes raking the dark for her. Her heart stuttered. "What are you doing out of bed so late at night?"

He was going to find her out if she didn't do something soon, and she didn't have any good excuses for being at the library when it was almost midnight. Hand trembling, she raised her wand and cast a mental _Accio Hogwarts, A History_.

The sound of a book flying off its shelf several aisles away had Riddle whipping around and running. Hermione, soon after, jumped to her feet and sprinted to the exit doors – which were shut. _What the hell_? She yanked on them, but they were locked, so she waved her wand and whispered "_Alomohora!" _ Riddle must have cast a simple charm, because the locks swung back and she was able to fly out the doors, missing the Stunning hex shot at her by inches.

She didn't stop running until she'd reached the Slytherin common room and only then did she catch her breath and wobble up to her dormitory, where she silently made her way past the dozens of sleeping girls and collapsed on her bed. She shoved her beaded bag and the Invisibility Cloak underneath the mattress and cast double wards that night, pulling the blankets over her head like a child trying to hide from monsters. They did make her feel safer though.

She couldn't believe what had happened. How did he find her? How did he know it was _her_? What if he'd seen her? She had to be more careful, cleverer and sneakier than he… but how? He was Voldemort.

She fingered the vial filled with Despicable Concoction in her pocket and drew it out, watching its contents glint menacingly in the moonlight streaming into the dormitory. Step four of the plan was close, but first she had to destroy the books, and incinerating Dark Arts books was no walk in the park. She carefully placed the vial in the trunk Hogwarts had supplied her, locking it for measure. _Stick to the plan, Hermione, _she told herself.

But the trouble was her plan was coming apart at the seams.

* * *

**AN: I hope you guys liked the chapter! Chapters two and three were mostly fillers, and from now on this fic can really get going. Actually, I think Professor Trelawney foresees a flashback with Dumbledore sometime in the future...but you all know how she is. ;) Thanks for reading and leave a review if you've got any ideas on Step 3! ...or if you adore Tom. (I know I do. Sigh) **


	5. I'm Onto You

After his fruitless search for that insipid girl in the library Tom Riddle stalked back to his room. 'HB' the initials on his door said. _Halfblood, _he thought darkly, and muttered his password before stepping inside.

He didn't know anything about Hermione, except that she was apparently from France and very intelligent. Of course, that wouldn't have been so bad if he weren't the only one who didn't know anything - but he wasn't. No one else knew a grain of information about the girl either. He needed a plan.

Luckily, Tom Riddle was an excellent planner.

He was sure she was the one in the library, sneaking around in the Restricted Section. But for what? An idea suddenly took form unbidden in his mind and it made him smile. Did Hermione have a secret passion for Dark Arts? She could be useful to him. He lay down on his bed, crossing his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. He hadn't toyed with a girl in ages, having been too busy trying to track down his locket, and Elfy was too stupid and gullible to be any fun as of late. Hermione could be a challenge and seducing her would be a sure way to get her to spill her secrets. Girls were fools for romance and easy to manipulate if they thought you loved them.

Tom fingered the vial of Amortentia in his hand, smirking. He popped the cork and inhaled, relishing the scent of strawberries and faint smell of ink. It smelled like her. Hermione.

But this was for someone else.

"Tom Riddle," he whispered to the shining potion and the liquid inside swirled, turning a deeper shade of red. All he had to do now was wait.

* * *

The next morning Hermione had gotten ready and was prepping to meet Tom Riddle again. However, her inner monologue was interrupted by an unpleasant face. _Meredith's _unpleasant face, to be exact.

"Morning Mudlblood," the girl sneered, flipping her glossy black hair as she passed her. "Your hair is looking as filthy as ever." Behind Hermione several Slytherins were snickering. Ears hot, she stood up, grabbed her bag, and swept out of the dormitory ten minutes early. _Prejudice idiots, _she thought heatedly, shoving the hurt down deep inside. Why should what they thought matter to her? She had the task.

Nothing else mattered to her now.

She passed the students in the common room as she did every morning, but paused at the sight of one student she didn't usually see in the dungeons. He was lounging on the black leather couch, both arms draped over the back, and legs splayed so that there was no room for anyone else to sit down. Not that anyone would try. He was Tom Riddle after all.

As soon as she entered his dark eyes glanced up to meet hers and a smile graced his features. She would've believed it too had it reached his eyes, which were empty of emotion as pits. But today he wasn't going to push her around. _Not this time, Riddle, _she thought and stared into his eyes determinedly, all her thoughts locked firmly away. She even smiled back at him, and if he was surprised he didn't show it.

"Hello Hermione," he said, polite as ever, and stood up, oblivious to the ogling glances and longing sighs he induced from a group of fifth year Slytherin girls huddled by the stairs.

"Morning Tom," she greeted. "Your ego is pulsating."

His smile widened. "Are you ready to go?"

_I'd rather wrestle a Blast-Ended Skewrt, _she thought, but said, "Sure."

Riddle led them out of the common room. They left a little later that morning, so when they reached the Great Hall it was full and boisterous, filled with ringing laughter and shouts even at nine o' clock in the morning. He pulled her chair out for her and she was startled slightly by that, but wrote it off to the time period. Chivalry was in, of course he'd behave like a gentleman.

"Thanks…Tom," she muttered, sitting down. He took his place next to her and immediately the focus at the table shifted, intent on him…and her.

She grimaced behind her pudding.

Elfy, who was peering at her with slanted eyes, turned to Riddle and smiled, batting her long eyelashes flirtatiously. Her strawberry blonde hair was twisted into a stylish up-do and her pink nail polish glittered in the morning sunlight streaming in. She would have looked pretty, if not for that constipated look on her face. "Tom, you never talk to me anymore," she said with a sad sigh. "What has been keeping you away from me?"

"I apologize, Elfaba," he said softly and without looking at her, spreading marmalade on his toast. "I've been very busy helping Miss Granger adjust to Hogwarts and my Head Boy duties have kept my plate quite full." To cap the statement, he glanced at her swiftly – sorrily – and Elfy melted like an icicle under the blazing heat of the sun.

"Oh, I understand perfectly, Tom," she said sympathetically. She shot Hermione a meaningful look. "You're such a gentleman, helping others when you hardly have the time to."

Hermione bristled at this. She hadn't asked for his help! She'd rather navigate the perilous Triwizard Tournament maze by herself _twice_ than have him escort her to another class. What was Elfy's problem?

Tom, watching Hermione's reactions closely out of the corner of his eye, simply smirked at Elfy's words. Her hand was inching up his right leg. He swatted it away like a fly. "Oh no, it's no trouble at all really," he said, so quietly no one but Elfy could hear, and looked right into her suddenly watering eyes expressionlessly –although there may have been some malice brewing deep in his black gaze. "I enjoy Miss Granger's company _very _much actually."

Elfy blinked, shocked, and looked back at her untouched plate of food, gulping back hot tears. What was he _doing _with that little French whore? Her hands shook with fury.

Unaware of what had just passed, Hermione stretched her arms above her head and yawned. "I'm finished. Can we go?" She hated that she had to ask for his permission, but until she got Riddle off her back she'd have to placate him. _Otherwise__ the Dark Lord might Crucio me._

Riddle flashed a winning, close-lipped smile at her. "Of course, darling."

She started at that and his pet name for her drew shocked stares. However, she said nothing and headed out the hall, Riddle close behind her. Elphy shot a livid glare after the new girl and leaned forward to explain to Abraxas and Dolohov _exactly_ where Riddle and Granger were going.

As they walked down the hall Hermione did her best to seem distracted, lest he try to question her about last night. _Be tough, _she coached herself, _he can't boss you around unless you let him. He can't make you say a thing. _They arrived at Potions quickly and took their seats. Riddle gathered the new items listed on the board. They were going to be making Befuddlement Draught today, a potion Hermione had already prepared in her time at Hogwarts and found quite simple. She looked forward to the lesson.

When the class was full and Slughorn was about to begin, his eyes surveyed the class and paused on Hermione. He grinned at her and clambered toward her and Riddle's table, drawing something out of his robes. "For you, Miss Granger," he said when he'd arrived and slipped her a pass for the Restricted Section. "Best of luck with that project!"

"Thank you, Professor," she said and put away the pass, trying to ignore Riddle's narrowed eyes.

"Project? On your second day here?" Riddle inquired softly when Slughorn had started to explain the steps necessary for brewing the potion. He didn't need to listen, having already prepared Befuddlement Draught before. "How forthcoming of you."

"My third technically," she said, still refusing to meet his gaze, and played with her quill. She unknowingly infuriated him. "And yes, it's for Arithmancy." He wasn't in her Arithmancy class, so he couldn't call her on her lie, she thought with satisfaction. _Take that, Riddle!_

Beside her Riddle nodded thoughtfully. "You do have an affinity for the library, don't you, Hermione?"

She froze – for just a fraction of a second – but he saw it. Hermione smoothed her expression, letting her eyes go blank. "What's wrong with a little love for knowledge?" she said coolly.

"Nothing," he replied, turning to the front when Slughorn faced the class. He started to prepare the ingredients and she followed suit after a second of deliberation. "Knowledge is power, after all, darling."

She looked at him, annoyed. "Do you have to call me that?" she said exasperatedly.

He glanced up at her, as if surprised, and frowned. "Call you what?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. _As if you don't know, _she thought accusingly. "You know what," she hissed.

He turned away from her and added puffer-fish eyes to their cauldron. When he looked back at her he looked so hurt and embarrassed she blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to make you…uncomfortable. It's just," he fidgeted and stared into her eyes intensely, "...I like you very much."

She wanted to break eye contact, she _should _have, but she couldn't. Not when he was staring at her like that. Like a puppy who'd just been kicked in the stomach. "I…" she began, but trailed off helplessly. She didn't know what to say. Ugh, he was playing her! But why did he have to do it so damn well?

She wasn't going to say _I like you, too. _That was for damn sure.

"You're intelligent and unpredictable," he continued, leaning closer and burning her with those coal-black eyes. She held her breath. "Mysterious."

That woke her up. Blinking, she jerked her head back and spun away from him, not even bothering to try and be discreet about it. She laughed nervously. "Me, mysterious?" She thrusted her knife right through a block of ginger. "Not in a Sherlock Holmes novel." He, she knew, was one of the few wizards at this school who would know who Sherlock Holmes was.

"I beg to differ, Hermione," Riddle said and his voice had lost its gentle lacquer. It was now menacing. "I'm no fool. I _know_ you're hiding something."

She looked around them desperately. Where was Slughorn when she needed him? Catching the look in her eyes, Riddle grabbed her wrist just before it could shoot into the air and squeezed it with such bruising force she gasped, earning glances from the students around them. Riddle sent her a warning look and came closer, putting his arms around hers and pretending to help her properly slice goose grass.

He put his mouth at her ear, as if he was going to give her a specific instruction, but instead murmured, "I know it was you in the library last night." His hand clenched around her wrist. She squirmed and he tsked, tightening his grip even more. "How did you get in without anyone seeing you? How did you get out without _me_ seeing?"

"But you did, you shot a-" At the triumphant look on his face, she backtracked. Shit. "I-I mean, why do you have such a-" She yanked her hands against his iron hold angrily. "-a painful grip?"

He laughed.

When he saw Slughorn coming toward them he released her and sat down, waiting patiently as Slughorn stirred their potion experimentally and awarded them compliments and points. "Thank you, Professor," he said modestly, ever the model student, and not missing the way Hermione rubbed her sore wrists underneath the desk.

He resisted a smirk.

"And you too, Miss Granger," Slughorn added. "Excellent work! It's a good thing I put you two together, you make the perfect match." He winked.

_I beg to differ, _Hermione thought, glaring at the back of Slughorn's balding head as he waddled away.

"Wonderful job, everyone!" Slughorn boomed, clapping his hands for attention. "Clean up your stations and empty your cauldrons. I will see you all tomorrow." Hermione moved to clear their table but Tom beat her to it, waving his wand and murmuring a Cleaning charm. The supplies vanished except for the cauldron, which was sparkling clean again and gleamed shiny black.

She hated him for his perfection.

They strode down the halls side-by-side, a foot in between them that Hermione guarded fiercely. The Dark Lord was getting far too close for comfort. What ever happened to lying low, staying under the radar? Sticking to the plan? _Oh that's right, _she thought bitterly. _Tom Riddle happened._

Outside of Herbology class, he did something very strange. He leaned forward, looked down at her with a soft smile, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear – as if he were saying goodbye to a dear girlfriend. But that wasn't right, because Voldemort didn't love, nor did he like her. Sure, he'd told her he did in Potions, but his words didn't mean anything. Every syllable that left his lips was a silky, well-versed lie.

Hermione looked past him, at a banner promoting the upcoming Quidditch match. She didn't see his jaw twitch. "I'll see you at the end of class, _darling_, and we'll finish our little talk." Not very gently, he took her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. "Understood?"

She smiled at him icily. "Perfectly."

He piqued a brow.

"Tom," she added grudgingly.

He winked at her. Actually _winked _at her. Voldemort!

"See you later," he said, brushing his lips over her forehead, before disappearing back down the corridor. She stared after him, gaping. What was _that _about?

She entered class, rubbing furiously at her forehead with the sleeve of her robe to try and dispel that stupid tingly feeling, and sat down beside Augusta. Regulus arrived not a minute after and through the entire class, Augusta kept up a steady stream of chatter about Quidditch and how pointless Herbology was while Hermione answered every question the professor had to offer. Regulus kept sending Hermione weird looks she tried to ignore. Sirius's grandfather really was strange.

By the end of class Hermione had earned fifteen points for Slytherin and was stripping off her dragonskin gloves while Augusta plucked twigs out of her hair. They went into the hall with the other students and Augusta suddenly froze like a statue, making Hermione trip over her shoe. She looked past the immobile girl to find a polished Tom Riddle leaning against the threshold looking for all the world like a dark prince in peasant clothes. _Of course, _Hermione thought, grimacing.

"Hello Hermione," he said smoothly and nodded at the Head Girl. "Augusta."

"Hi Tom," she said, grinning and blushing a little. Hermione was horrified. Oh _no, _it wasn't just the Slytherins. The other house girls had fallen for him too! "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to take Miss Granger to class," Riddle said, shooting the girl herself a smile that would have been dazzling if not for the fact he'd murdered countless witches and wizards. Bastard. "Ready?" he asked.

"Actually Tom, I need to speak to Hermione privately," Augusta cut in, a look of apology on her face. "I'll get her to her next class on time though, I promise." She smiled.

If Tom was displeased he didn't show it, and on the surface he returned Augusta's smile and straightened to leave. "Of course, I wouldn't want to intrude on any _girl_ _talk_." He winked at Augusta, who giggled and turned pinker. Hermione tried not to gag. "I'll see you later, Hermione," he added, hidden meaning coating his words.

She shivered.

As he strode away Augusta immediately grabbed her by the arm and hauled them in the opposite direction. Hurrying down the halls, she hissed, "I heard rumors about you two, but I didn't actually believe you were together! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Rumors?" Hermione repeated sharply. "What rumors?"

Augusta rolled her eyes to the ceiling, the picture of innocence. "Well, Scrimageour told me and Finsley told him and Rufus Parvati told Finsley and Parvati got it from Abraxas Malfoy, who got it straight from the source," she reported.

"Who's the source?" Hermione asked.

"Elfy Wictz," Minerva said and the girls turned around, surprised to find Minerva striding steadily behind them. She stepped up in between them, straightening her glasses. "She's been a real bitch ever since she started hanging around Meredith," she added matter-of-factly.

Hermione scowled. _Elfy. _She should've known. That girl did seem to hold an inexplicable grudge against her and she was glaring daggers at her all breakfast. But wait-

"Mmm, Tom Riddle," Augusta sighed with a little giggle. "You know, you're so lucky he's courting you Hermione. I've never seen him with anyone in all these years at Hogwarts, but every female in existence fantasizes about that hot hunk of testosterone." She winked. Hermione choked on her spit at this, but before she could say anything Augusta continued, "Is it true you two met in the caretaker's supplies closet to shag before first period yesterday?"

"_WHAT? _ No!" Hermione screeched at the dirty grin on Augusta's face, which was quickly replaced by a look of disappointment. "We're not even together, Augusta. There's nothing between us. _N__othing__,_" she said with conviction.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Augusta said thriftily. "I mean, Tom does escort you to class and he looked quite unwilling to leave your side just a minute ago. Plus, I saw the way you were looking at him…"

_Looking at him how? With bitter hatred coming from the very bottom of my soul? _ she thought furiously.

"That's because…because…" Hermione grappled for words, but what could she say? He's only pretending to be into me, but really he's just an evil mastermind who is fooling you all with his dastardly good looks so that he can take over the world later and kill every Muggles on the planet? Yeah, _that_ would go over well – in St. Mungo's.

"Well," Augusta said slowly, seriously. "It seems to me that Tom likes you. I don't know how you feel about him, but I wouldn't blame you if-"

"_Longbottom,_" Hermione said warningly.

"_Granger,_" Augusta mocked. "I'm just saying, he's hot! And there's nothing wrong with a bit of healthy temptation."

But wasn't there?

Minerva almost cracked a smile at the green look on Hermione's face and Augusta took pity on her, clapping her back. "Don't worry about it, girl. Just stick to your guns."

"Just so you know," Minerva interrupted. "I think there's something up with Riddle. He may have a pretty face – well, that's an understatement – but there's something about him that's…not right. I find him suspicious."

Hermione stared at her, surprised. So Minerva saw it too?

Augusta laughed. "Oh, stop being silly Minerva!" She rolled her eyes at Hermione, who forced a tight-lipped smile on her face. "She thinks everyone is suspicious."

"I do not!" Minerva said, scowling.

"Sure you don't."

"Ugh, you're ridiculous. I'm going to the library!" She stormed away, the look on her face so frightful students scrambled out of her path as she stalked down the hall.

"I guess I better go, too," Augusta said with a sigh. "Go to class Hermione, I'll catch up with you later." And she turned on her heel and hurried down the hall to her own class, leaving Hermione right outside Arithmancy.

During class Hermione was so lost in her thoughts during class she only answered five questions the entire period. Was it really floating around that she and Tom were together? But no, why would Elfy tell people that? It wouldn't help her in any way. Then again, maybe she was just pathetic and thought Hermione was stealing Riddle from her or something. Either way, Hermione was sure to start getting worse looks than usual in the Slytherin common room.

But that was the least of Hermione's problems, seeing as Riddle was onto her.

Once class was finished she had come up with a plan for evading him, so as soon as the door opened and students rushed out in clumsy torrents she hid among them, slipping right past Riddle's studious eyes and stealing behind a knight, where a little hole in the wall widened into an opening to a corridor at a tap of her wand. _See, Riddle?_ she thought triumphantly. _I've got tricks, too._

Hermione walked into Transfiguration with a cheerful smile and spring in her step, waving at Dumbledore who greeted her kindly and taking a seat at the very front. Five minutes into the period Riddle arrived, his usually impeccable hair ruffled and a slight pinkness in his cheeks. His dark eyes scoured the classroom before landing on her, narrowing. There was accusation and fury in his gaze, and Hermione shrank underneath it.

"Mr. Riddle, may I ask why you are so late?" Dumbledore said, raising an auburn brow at Riddle's appearance. The rest of the class was looking quite shocked, too. Tom Riddle was _never _late. He was the epitome of perfection, or so they'd thought.

"I apologize, Professor," Riddle said quietly, his eyes still on Hermione, who was staring intently at her quill. "I was…delayed."

"Be sure it doesn't happen again, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said sternly, watching Tom and Hermione with sharp eyes and a frown. "Please take your seat."

Riddle headed toward the empty seat beside Hermione, but stopped mid-stride when Dumbledore said, "No, not there, Mr. Riddle. Please switch seats with Ms. Abott. She recently lost her glasses and has trouble reading incantations on the board."

Riddle paused and Hermione swore – for just a second – that his eyes flashed red, but it happened too quickly for her to be sure. He smiled tightly at Dumbledore. "Of course, Professor."

Hermione stifled a grin. There were a dozen other students who had front seats and Dumbledore could have easily switched Hayley Abott with anyone of them, but instead he'd made Riddle move. Hermione had never been so grateful that the Dumbledore of the 1940s was one of the few people who saw through Riddle's charade.

The rest of class passed without event – save for the two eyes burning into the side of her head from the back of the classroom. Hermione's skin prickled with nervousness. She did _not _want to be alone with Riddle anytime soon. Obviously, she'd pushed him too far, and she definitely did not want to see what he was like when he cracked and let that infamous temper reign.

The bell rang and everyone hurried out, but Hermione was the fastest of all of them. Riddle was ready though, bag packed and slung over his shoulder, and as he moved toward her Dumbledore, with a soft "oops!," stuck out his foot and tripped Ms. Abbott, who was right in front of Tom and fell to the floor, making him tumble right on top of her. Sputtering, Riddle quickly got to his feet and righted himself, spinning around to glare at Dumbledore.

"Did you just trip a student?" he demanded.

"My apologies, Ms. Abbott, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said innocently, but his blue eyes stared meaningfully at Tom. "It seems I need to clean my glasses. I really am terribly sorry…"

Outside, Hermione rushed past the Great Hall and stole to the library, thanking her lucky stars for Dumbledore. Riddle would expect to see her at lunch, but she'd be damned if she was going to eat right next to the Dark Lord when he probably wanted to tear her throat out. And even if he did come looking for her she would stay in the open. He wouldn't dare do anything to her in front of any witnesses.

Would he?

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Please review, because reviews are love and love equals chocolate and...everyone needs a little chocolate in their life. (Mmmmh, choc-o-laaate.) Ok guys, question: How do you feel about Victorian-era Tomione fics? I read _Lacrimosa _by uchiha.s and totally loved it! It's not really Victorian, but everyone speaks Old English and wears gowns and all that get-up. Personally, I think there should totally be more Tomione fics like this. Tom Riddle was just _born _to ride horses into the night and wear a tuxedo. Vrai? **


	6. Mud

Hermione went to the very back of the library, showing her pass to Mme. Wiber before she entered the Restricted Section. There weren't too many students in the library today and the few that were here were hiding out in aisles looking for books. She was alone.

She sneezed once at the scent of thick dust and old print, tied back her hair, and got to work. The volume she was looking for didn't exist in the Hogwarts library of her time – most books on the Dark Arts had been banned by then – which was why she needed it now. She checked three rows of books before her eyes lighted on _'Destruction of Dark Texts.' _Excellent.

Ten minutes later she was sitting at an empty work table, working on an essay for Arithmancy with the book safely tucked away in her beaded bag, which she'd brought with her for the ritual she was to perform later.

"It's good to see you here…again," a voice said softly from behind her.

Hermione stiffened when Riddle's hands covered her shoulders, shoving her back into her chair when she tried to get up. She swallowed. "How did you find me?" she asked shakily.

He scoffed and then his face was next to hers, one brow raised condescendingly. "You're not that hard to find, darling." A long finger trailed across her collarbones and she shivered. He chuckled above her. "You've been trying to get rid of me."

She didn't answer and he gracefully moved to perch on the table before her, crossing his legs at the ankles. He wasn't smiling. "Care to explain why?" he said nonchalantly.

Hermione looked down. "I-"

"Look at me."

She blinked and did so, staring up at him with wide, bewildered eyes. "Er, what?"

"It's terribly rude to look away when someone is speaking to you, Hermione," he said. "And when _you_ do it makes me…very angry."

Fear spiked through her, but she remained indifferent on the outside. Or tried to. "I see," she said, nodding.

"Do you?"

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and smiled angelically. "Yes and I'm sorry," she said softly.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're mocking me."

"Well, what am I supposed to do!" she exploded. "Fall at your feet and kiss your damn shoes? You're not my master, you conceited-" His wand was suddenly pointed right at her and her words dried up in her mouth like sand. The look on his face was unforgiving. She gulped. "W-what are you doing?"

"Nothing…yet," he said coldly. He eyed her thoughtfully. "What if I did want you to kiss my shoes?"

"I wouldn't do it," she said firmly.

He leaned closer, until his face was right in hers and she could count every long eyelash framing those dark merciless eyes. "_But I could make you,_" he whispered.

She knew that well, which was why she wasn't supposed to mix up with Tom Riddle in the first place. What would Dumbledore say if he saw her now? On second thought, she didn't even want to think about that.

"Go ahead," she challenged, shaking back her hair like a lioness raising her hackles. "Make me."

Surprise glanced across his features, but it quickly melted back into that impenetrable mask. He smirked – and just like that the anger was gone, replaced by amusement and a normal schoolboy. "Don't be silly, Hermione," he said, his lip curling into a handsome smile, and tapped her nose lightly with the tip of his yew wand before pocketing it. A red spark glanced off her cheek. "I wouldn't hurt you."

Yeah right.

The bell suddenly rang and he stood, taking her bag before she could and slinging it over his shoulder. He jerked his chin at the exit doors, eyes glittering. "Lead the way."

* * *

They walked to dinner silently after DADA and Ancient Runes, both classes which they unfortunately shared, and the silence hanging between them scared Hermione. What was he thinking? Was he planning something? Was he going to do anything to her? Paranoia clouded her thoughts.

When they entered the Great Hall and sat down for dinner Hermione remained quiet, while Riddle played the charming schoolboy and endured Elfy's fawning. Every other minute Hermione saw the idiotic girl reach over to stroke his arm or bat her lashes at him – all the while keeping up a steady stream of glowers just for Hermione. Riddle didn't seem to notice, as he was speaking with Abraxas.

Midway through dinner, Hermione asked Meredith for the gravy.

Meredith looked up and flashed her a smile. "Sure, Hermione," she said sweetly, passing her the gravy boat.

Hermione accepted it with a gracious smile. Who knew, maybe Meredith was warming up to her? She was about to pour the gravy over her mashed potatoes when a strange scent hit her nostrils, and she paused. It smelled like dirt and wet earth. It smelled like… She peered inside the gravy boat and her mouth fell open.

_Mud._

It was brown and slimy and swishing inside the ceramic bowl murkily. Hermione looked up at Meredith, who was watching her with a smile that quibbled with laughter on the edges. "Taste good, doesn't it?" she asked innocently. The girl with rat-like features beside her – Fabia, Hermione had learned by now – burst into hysterical laughter.

The whole table was staring at them now. Hermione tried to speak past the hot lump of anger and hurt balled in her throat, but couldn't. Meredith's grin turned nasty and she was reminded of Bellatrix, peeling a dagger across her skin and carving that hateful word into her skin forever.

_Mudblood._

The reddish glint of a bloodied knife coming back down to drag over her skin. Bellatrix's insane, black eyes and that terrible laugh that sounded more like an evil cackle than glee echoing all around when she screamed. Ginny, falling dead at her feet, followed shortly by a mortally wounded Mrs. Weasley. Greyback, tearing into Lavender Brown with his long talons and asking Hermione – _dirty__little Mudblood, _he had called her – if she'd like a taste. _His _voice echoing around the Great Hall, telling them to turn over Harry. _His _voice, casting the Cruciatus Curse-

And now beside her, _his _voice said, "Hermione, are you alright?" and brought her back to the present. Or the past rather.

Ha.

She looked at Riddle slowly and he blinked at what lingered in her hooded gaze. "I'm fine," she said, smiling a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'll see you later." With a flick of her wand, Hermione Transfigured the mud back into gravy and gently put it down on the table before moving to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Riddle persisted.

Hermione avoided his eyes. "Oh...on a walk." She shrugged. The Slytherins around them exchanged odd looks, but Tom ignored them. He had a bad feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what it was, but it told him not to let Hermione go outside alone. Not when she had that...look...on her face.

"Shall I escort you?" he said smoothly, trying to hide that indiscernible emotion behind another mask.

He didn't need to however, because while she seemed to be looking at him she wasn't really seeing him at all. "No thank you, Tom. I'll be fine," Hermione said, her voice strangely hollow, and left without looking back.

Riddle stared after her. The others knew better than to interrupt his thoughts.

* * *

Hermione stormed out of the castle into the chilly night, edged with autumn and fierce winds that blew loud and strong and made her shudder. She almost hadn't been able to hold it back in the Great Hall a few minutes ago: the _rage._ She'd almost lost it completely, just barely holding onto that blank façade, and would have cursed Meredith right then and there if she hadn't gotten out of there.

Hermione clutched her bag to her body and threw on the Invisibility Cloak, headed for the Forbidden Forest. She felt ready to kill. Fury charged through her, making her eyes burn and angry tears churn down her cheeks. She slapped them away a second before the wind could. _How dare she!_ That stupid, idiotic girl who thought she was so much better than her just because her parents were full-blooded wizards looked _down _on Hermione. It infuriated her. She was no better than Bellatrix or any other Death Eaters – or Voldemort.

They were all going down.

She entered the vast, ominous forest and lit her wand with a mental _Lumos!, _snaking through the rippling foliage and flickering shadows as fast as her feet would allow. She stumbled to a stop, gasping, in a small clearing that was empty save for a healthy layer of browning grass and a rabbit, and she dumped all eight books she had on Dark Arts on the ground. The rabbit looked around, startled, but seeing nothing.

It was twilight, just light enough for her to be able to see what she was doing without too much trouble. She took out _'Destruction of Dark Texts' _and lay it down before her, waving her wand over it. The book snapped open, pages whipping with the wind and swirling dead leaves until they stopped on the ritual diagram.

Hermione felt black as she set up the required ingredients. Her insides were black with hurt and rage, coldness punctured her skin, her eyes saw nothing but darkness, her hands _shook_ with it. She gritted her teeth and rocked forward onto her knees to read the text, eyes glancing over the warning and zooming in on the instructions quickly. In record time she made a circle of unicorn hair around the cauldron containing the books she would set fire to and bit her thumb until it drew blood, letting three drops plunk into the basin. The winds gained fervor and charged harder around her, whipping her hair against her pink cheeks. Hand trembling, she pointed her wand at the books and fought to steady it.

How dare they think her weak? How dare they judge her based on her blood? She was the brightest witch of her age! They – knew – _nothing._

"_Incendio!"_ she shouted and a blazing fire consumed the books so fast her eyes hardly registered it. Hermione didn't need to look at the book for the last step though, so putting all that black rage into the incantation, she threw open her arms and said, "_Relinquo mihi." _She saw the fire rise and roar from behind her shut eyelids, red and furious, before it almost immediately deflated and collapsed back into the cauldron just as quickly. She opened her eyes, watching as a thick black smoke slowly unfurled from the cauldron, and was distracted from her rage for an instant. Was that supposed to happen?

Hermion made to glance at the book, but a coil of black smoke struck out and snatched her forward. She gasped. Ouch! It was blistering her skin, frosting her over. Burning her. What was happening?

More smoky arms threw themselves around her, twining around her legs and going down her throat. She couldn't breathe. She was dying! They lifted her above the cauldron, and staring inside it she didn't see anything – not even ash. There was nothing but black smoke and wind churning around her, the sound of her heart pounding against her chest and someone screaming.

The smoke swallowed her eyes and the sky went black, too.

* * *

**AN: Thank you all for the reviews, favorites, and all that jazz. I love to see that you guys are enjoying the story! (Or are you? *whips out secret stash of Veritaserum*) Anyway, leave me some love...feedback...constructive flames...sexy pics...etc... **


	7. Yes, My Lord

**AN: Oh my goodness, guys, I've got crazy news. My Christmas tree FELL ON TOP OF ME! I just put all the ornaments and fake snow back on (although some pine needles are still hiding in my bra), and hopefully the fam won't notice anything amiss when they come home. (Psh, they're so gonna notice.) P.S. Thanks for all the reviews! I do a little happy dance for each one. One reviewer mentioned some things in the Task that aren't parallel to the real 1943 of Potterverse (ie: Regulus Black), but this fic is non-canon so if you see any out-of-place events/characters they're here on purpose. As for Hermione, I guess you'll have to see whether she goes bad or not. ;) Anyway, while you read the latest update I'm going to think up a convincing cover story for that broken tree... **

* * *

"Abraxas, stay," Regulus heard _him_ say softly as they were dismissed from the latest meeting.

Abraxas stiffened beside Regulus. He looked frightened and no one blamed him. The other members shot him pitiful looks as they passed him, Regulus included, and then it was just Abraxas and Tom Riddle all alone in the empty classroom.

Tom smirked when he saw Abraxas trembling before him. "There's no need to be afraid, you know," he said, casually perching on a desk. "You haven't done anything wrong."

Abraxas lowered his eyes and nodded, although he wasn't convinced. "Yes, my Lord."

Tom fingered his yew wand absently and Abraxas watched that hand closely, that delicate hand which could cause _so_ much pain _so _easily. "You do know who Hermione Granger is, do you not?" he said abruptly.

Abraxas didn't answer. That was one of the rules: don't speak unless specifically asked to.

"I need to keep a close eye on her," Tom continued, "but seeing as I can't watch her every move I will require you and your fellow Death Eaters to. Notify them that they are to survey her – _not _to harm her." He paused. "Unless requested. Understood?"

"Yes, my Lord," Abraxas murmured.

"And be sure no one else harms her either." He didn't like the way she'd looked after Meredith pulled that childish trick on her, it made him want to...break something. Or someone. "It would be most regrettable if any of you disappointed me," Tom added, fingering that yew wand again, and beads of sweat started on Abraxas' brow as he shuddered at the implicated threat. "Wouldn't it?"

"Yes, my Lord," he whispered.

Tom paused, relishing the fear Abraxas was positively reeking for a moment. He sighed.

"Get out."

Abraxas all but ran, bowing to Tom low and deep before he rushed out of the classroom. Once the door had shut behind him Tom raked his fingers through his dark hair absent-mindedly. They were so easy to scare, he thought, not at all like her. No, Hermione stood up to him. He knew she was afraid of him, although she tried to hide it, but that just made it all the more fun to mess with her.

Only he was allowed to mess with her.

* * *

When Hermione came around it wasn't on her own, but at the sound of violent coughing and a familiarly deep, booming voice.

"'ELLO! WHO'S 'ERE? Show yerself er I'll get Professor Dumbledore!"

Hermione blinked her eyes open to find herself still in the clearing and a much, much younger Hagrid standing right outside of it, trying to peer into the ring of hazy black smoke without success. Panic rang inside her but was soon replaced by swift nausea. Promptly, she doubled over and vomited.

She got to her feet and the Invisibility Cloak whisked around her shoulders gently - so she hadn't lost it. Good. So her mouth tasted like barf. Not good.

Hermione cast a Fresh Breath charm on herself, but while that fixed her mouth problem it made her feel ten times worse. Her stomach was churning, her head whirling, and all in all she felt like crap, but she picked up her bag and stumbled out of the clearing, which was vacant of all life and barren now. Hagrid kept shouting behind her (which made her head hurt even more) but she couldn't let him see her. That was _not _part of the plan.

The world swung around Hermione and she grabbed onto the trunk of a sturdy oak tree. Hot saliva pooled in her mouth, but she forced it down. What was _wrong_ with her? She hobbled out of the forest and blinked at the sight of the moon in the black sky. Merlin, how late was it? How long had she been gone? She threw off her cloak and tried to tame her wild curls as she hurried to the castle.

Behind her, a pulsating cloud of inky black smoke gathered above the Forbidden Forest like a newly brewed storm.

Entering the castle, Hermione checked her watch and gasped. It was almost two AM! She had to get back to her dormitory fast. Soundlessly, Hermione crept through the shadows as she navigated the deserted castle. Prefects didn't even patrol this late, so she just had to make sure she didn't run into the caretaker of this time, Gregovich.

Ugh, she felt so, so sleepy... She clawed at her eyes, trying to dispel the feeling, and jumped in fright when a tall boy with dark hair loomed into view.

But not just _any_ boy, of course.

She scuttled back into the outskirts of the corridor like a crab, watching with bated breath as Riddle's eyes flicked over the hall around him. Seeing nothing, he ran his hand through that thick raven black hair of his and turned sharply on his heel, disappearing down the hall. Hermione released the breath she'd been holding and ran the rest of the way to her dormitory. Once inside, she stumbled over to her bed and ripped open the curtains. One of the girls groaned at the sound and Hermione gritted her teeth and cast "_Muffliato_" before collapsing on her bed and yanking the hangings shut. She fell asleep instantly.

* * *

Hermione woke up to very bad news.

Classes had been _cancelled_ for the day, and that wasn't bad news in the 'I'm-being-deprived-of-a-day-that-could-be-used-to-fill-me-with-useful-knowledge' kind of way – no, it was the reason behind iit. There was an 'ominous black fog hanging over the Forbidden Forest' and it was potentially dangerous, or so Slughorn had said in his announcement to the Slytherin common room earlier that morning, and until the teachers figured out what it was or how to get rid of it, every door and window in the castle was bolted shut. No one was going to leave - or enter - Hogwarts with that unhindered magic hanging around.

The magic she,somehow, had triggered.

She didn't understand it. All she knew was that something went wrong with the ritual. She remembered the fire, the black smoke attacking her, and then…nothing. She had to investigate and fix it however – lest the timeline suffer severe damage. She couldn't magick the entire student body to forget about the smoke, after all.

Although the idea _was_ tempting.

"Hey Mudblood! Over here!" some Slytherin girl shouted at her as she made her way – late – to breakfast. Hermione ignored them and was about to open the doors to the Great Hall when someone else stepped into her path, blocking the way. Taking in her smooth dark skin and long braided hair, a rush of anger swept through Hermione as she met the gleaming eyes of Meredith Smith.

Great.

"Excuse me," Hermione said coolly, not acknowledging the two other girls surrounding her, Elfy and Fabia. Elfy's unicorn-haired wand was held loosely at her side; Fabia was giggling behind hers.

"I see Tom's not around," Meredith said casually, waltzing around Hermione in a slow circle. "That's good. I've been wanting to have a chat with you since you left dinner yesterday. You see, I was worried about you. We all were." She stopped her circling and picked up a piece of Hermione's hair, twirling it around her finger thoughtfully. "Isn't her hair pretty, girls? Looks at those long curls – oh! – and that _color. _Why your hair is such an intriguing shade of brown, Hermione. It reminds me of...hm..."

"Mud!" Fabia burst out, giggling harder. Elphy looked away, probably bored, and started to examine her nails.

"Fabia, that's very unkind of you," Meredith scolded. She was grinning though. "_I_ was thinking it was the color of shit. Just like her eyes."

She reached up to touch them and Hermione slapped her hand away. "I'm warning you, Smith. Back off."

Meredith mock-pouted. "But I'm having so much fun. Besides, we're just getting to know each other-"

Hermione whipped her wand out so fast Fabia yelped and jumped a foot in the air. Meredith, however, merely smiled at her tightly. "I don't want to get to know you and I've had _enough_," Hermione said.

"We haven't," Fabia said from behind her and Hermione stiffened when she felt the tip of the girl's wand on the back of her neck. "In fact, I have a question for you, little Mudblood. Do you always bang the first guy you meet or is Tom a special occasion?"

Hermione balled her hands into fists. She mustn't attack them. She musn't-

"Why bother asking the whore?" Meredith sneered. "Of course she does. I bet at least fifteen men have rolled around in her mud in the past week-"

"You _bitch,"_ Hermione hissed and elbowed Fabia so hard in the ribs the girl dropped her wand and started wheezing. She shot a Stinging Hex at Meredith next before turning around to take on Elphy, who was staring at her in shock and fumbling with her wand. Hermione raised hers. "_Im_-"

Suddenly, a hand wrapped around hers and Hermione spun around, but the jinx died on her lips at the sight of a wide-eyed Regulus Black. He threw up his hands, stepping back. "Don't hurt me! I was just going to say Sluggy is headed this way. He'll be here any minute." He looked earnest, so she lowered her wand.

_He doesn't look much like Sirius_, she thought randomly as she stared him down, _except for that curly black hair._ "What are you doing here?" Hermione asked warily.

"I heard shouting so I ran over to see what was going on," he said, shrugging, and looked past her to see Elphy, a limping Fabia, and Meredith hurrying into the Great Hall. Elphy glanced back at them a second before the heavy oak doors swung shut, her slanted green eyes questioning. "I saw them surround you and I was about to help, but then you…uh…took care of that, so I guess you didn't need me after all." He grinned sheepishly. "That was impressive."

She stared at him, bewildered.

"Well then, I've gotta go study for my Divination exam tomorrow," he said awkwardly, moving away, and she nearly snorted. He took Divination? What a useless subject. "See you in Herbology, Hermione."

Regulus walked away, hands shoved in his pockets, and she was just wondering what the hell _that _was about when Augusta and Minerva suddenly arrived. Augusta whistled at Regulus' retreating back. "Onto the next one already, eh?" she said, impressed. "He's not as dashing as Tom, but he sure is cute. The strong and silent type. I can appreciate that."

"Strong and silent?" Minerva sniffed. "More like shifty. All those Slytherins are." She glanced at Hermione quickly. "Except, er, you..."

"He was just saying hi," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at the fiendish grin on Augusta's face. "Just because I talk to a guy doesn't mean he's hitting on me."

"Psh, yeah right!" Augusta snorted. "What century are _you_ from?"

Funny you mention that...

"Anyway," Minerva said pointedly. "We came over to invite you to breakfast on the Astronomy Tower with us."

"Breakfast? But how-"

Augusta produced a delicious-smelling picnic basket from her robes, grinning mischievously. "Got it from the kitchens. The house elves can be very accommodating if you compliment the quality of their food and sock-folding." At this, Hermione had to remind herself not to start lecturing them on house elf rights and equality. S.P.E.W. wouldn't go down well in the '40s, unfortunately.

"You know, for Head Girl you sure do break a lot of rules," Minerva commented drily, smoothing a stray wisp of black hair back into her tight bun.

"'You know, for Head Girl you sure do break a lot of rules,' wah wah," Augusta mocked in a squeaky, high-pitched version of Minerva's voice. "It's just food, Minny. Live a little!"

"I don't see how eating breakfast is supposed to make my life more thrilling," Minerva grumbled.

"Wet blanket," Augusta retorted and grabbed both girls' arms, pulling them in the direction to the Astronomy Tower. "Don't you worry, ladies. Some fresh air will do us a load of good!"

Some hours later Minerva, Augusta, and Hermione were lounging around on the Astronomy Tower. The picnic basket was empty and Minerva was picking the bare grape vines into tiny brittle pieces while Augusta dreamily gazed across the grounds at the tiny figure of Richard Hornet doing laps around the Quidditch pitch. Hermione had taken off her stockings and sat on the ledge with a bare leg thrown recklessly over each side. At first, her friends had been appalled at her lack of modesty and a second-long glimpse of her polka-dot knickers, but she brushed them off and they signed it off as more of the new girl's oddness.

"What do you think that fog is?" Augusta eventually said, for Richard Hornet had gone back in by now and her eyes were on the Forbidden Forest, a tiny dot in the distance.

"I don't know," Hermione lied. "Slughorn said Dippet suspected it's Dark magic. Dumbledore is sure it is."

"Dumbledore is always right," Minerva said.

"Even the most brilliant of wizards make mistakes sometimes," Hermione said softly.

"Not Dumbledore."

"I think Professor Chanté is hot," Augusta interjected randomly and whirled around to face the both of them. She gnawed her lip worriedly. "Is that strange? I know he's like twelve years older than us, but I always imagine him asking me to stay after class and once the door is shut he takes me in his arms and confesses his love or something-"

"Yes, that is very strange," Hermione interrupted, laughing.

"Oh shut up," Augusta growled, but she was laughing too. "You know he's good-looking!"

"That blonde hair and his blue eyes," Minerva sighed and for the first time she didn't look strict and severe, but besotted.

"And that smile…blimey." Augusta fanned herself, pretending to faint into Minerva's lap.

"Oy, get off me!" Minerva huffed. "LONGBOTTOM!"

Hermione chuckled and glanced back out of the tower – just to catch another glimpse of the glimmering sunset – but her eyes locked on the Forbidden Forest instead. She saw a cluster of teachers before it, investigating and trying different spells. Dumbledore was probably among them. A wind blasted by, carrying the scent of that black smoke with it, and - involuntarily - she took a deep breath. The air smelled of cedar and dug-up earth and made the blood in her veins buzz, like she was experiencing an adrenaline rush in slow-motion. She sighed. _Mm. __So good…_

"Hermione, don't fall off!"

Her eyes flew open, the delicious scents and sensation of pumping blood vanishing, and she found Augusta and a disheveled Minerva grinning at her amusedly. Well, Minerva wasn't grinning per se, but she did look partially amused. Hermione blushed. "Whoops, I guess I was daydreaming," she said, surprised.

"About Professor Chanté?" Augusta teased.

"Eh, no. He's not my type."

"Oh, that's right. _Your_ type is tall, dark-haired, and sexy to the point of Unforgivableness," Augusta teased. Minerva cracked up beside her.

"Yeah yeah," Hermione said sarcastically. "I'm all for the suffering-in-silence types."

"I knew it!"

"It's getting dark," Minerva announced, glancing up at the sky. "And cold. I'm going to head back, are you two coming?"

"Sure," Augusta said. "It's about dinnertime anyway and I'm starving."

"Me too." Hermione jumped off the ledge, flexing her stiff back and cracking her knuckles. Minerva and Augusta stared at her with mixed expressions of disgust and shock as she yanked on her stockings. "What?"

"Er…nothing," Augusta said, plastering a smile on her face. She still looked kind of weirded out though. "Let's go!"

They walked down the tower, taking the moving staircases and striding past several portraits that raised their eyebrows and made stuck-up comments about the flushed state of the three girls. Minerva nervously petted her ruffled hair back into place. "Do I look alright?" she asked.

"Sure you do," Hermione said. "Are you worried Professor Chanté will see you so discomposed?"

Minerva blushed.

Hermione chuckled. "Don't worry, you look nice."

Minerva _almost_ smiled at her.

* * *

**AN: The next update will be quick and have more Tom (je le promet)! Please review, fellow Tomione addicts, and if you have any good TRHG fics to rec don't be selfish...share! I'm always looking for a good (and if I'm lucky, _fuck__hawt_) fiction. Thanks for reading! **


	8. Deal with the Devil

**AN: A quick update, as promised (and it's pretty long too). Enjoy!**

* * *

Once Hermione was back in her dormitory she realized she had not seen Riddle once all day. She smiled to herself, ignoring the dirty looks from the Slytherin girls getting ready for bed around her. Maybe he was finally giving up on her.

However, even with that one highlight of the day one glaring problem remained: the black smoke. She'd been thinking about it all through dinner. What had gone wrong during the ritual? She had executed every step perfectly, right at sunset, and all of her supplies were fresh. So what had gone wrong? What happened?

She had to go back to find out.

When all of the Slytherins were fast asleep Hermione got up and took the beaded bag out from under her bed, retrieving Harry's Invisibility Cloak. _Harry_. She paused, rubbing the cloak between her fingers gently. She missed him. She missed his temper tantrums and sweetness, his big glasses and impossible hair. And Ron of course. He was an oaf, but he was her oaf, even if they weren't really compatible. The kiss with him that she'd dreamed of for so long just hadn't been as magical as the real thing, and - well - the sex had been awful. She and Ron were really just friends.

Were. Because he was dead too.

_For now._

With that thought in mind, she snuck down the stairs to the common room and slipped out, pulling on the Invisibility Cloak as she went. She tiptoed down the halls, eyes alert for any prefects or Gregovitch, her wand held at the ready. Soon, she arrived at an exit that would take her to a path across the grounds and lead directly to the Forbidden Forest. The doors, she knew, were locked, so she tried "_Alohomora"_ but it didn't work. She sighed. For all she knew Dumbledore secured these doors!

Tom watched, amused, as Hermione tried again and again, firing spell after spell at the unyielding doors. He couldn't see her – her Disillusionment Charm was holding up well – but judging by the red jets of light flying through the air he knew she was there. He'd seen her last night creeping through the halls and he knew she would be back to sneak out again. So he'd waited for her and surely enough, she had come around midnight. Now he would finally find out what she was up to.

Ten minutes later he heard a frustrated panting and grinned. He lifted his wand to help her out – she'd never get those doors unlocked by herself – but a second before he could one more spell impacted them and they swung open with a loud groan. The soft sound of footsteps followed and he hurried after them before she could get away. He was grudgingly impressed, it had taken two professors an entire hour to secure those doors.

Swiftly, Hermione took the trail to the Forbidden Forest. Magic crackled in the air, thick and heavy, and the forest seemed to have been completely vacated on this side. There wasn't a single sign of life here, not a leaf, a bird, or even a blade of grass. The thousand-year old trees were wilted; everything was dying.

She'd done this.

Hermione made her way to the clearing where she'd performed the ritual. She shouldn't have been able to find it so easily – the forest was huge – but she arrived within minutes. The black smoke was thickest here, so dense she could hardly see, and she took off the Cloak. "_Lumos,"_ Hermione said, lighting her wand and holding it ahead of her. She tried to ignore the feeling that she was being watched and strode forward.

Looking around, she found the cauldron she'd used was still here, although it'd been tipped over and was empty now. But where was that book? That was what she came for, what would bring her a step closer to fixing this.

"_Accio 'Destruction of Dark Texts_,'" she cast, waving her wand. The branches of a dead bush on the perimeter of the clearing shuddered – something was wedged inside them – and a second later a book came flying out. It crashed into her and she grabbed it, gasping. Oh thank Merlin! She'd been worried she wouldn't be able to find it. Now she could get out of here.

Tucking it away, she started to head out the way she'd come, but the smoke hovering in the air like black mist thickened into an opaque fog, making it harder to see. Hermione swallowed. She wasn't afraid, she wouldn't be. Straightening, she pushed ahead, and a few minutes later she could make out the towering spires of Hogwarts and ran ahead, unable to contain herself any longer. She had to _get out of there._

At once – as if the smoke had sensed her fear and immediately reacted – the smoke turned into coils and lashed at her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She shrieked and sprinted faster, heart pounding. _Only a little farther._

A foot away from safety the smoke lashed out and wrapped around her ankle, yanking her down so hard she landed flat on her face. She spat dirt out of her mouth and tried to get up, but the more she resisted the harder the smoke pressed down on her, like it was trying to invade her. No, she wouldn't – _couldn't_ let that happen again! She remembered all too well the sensation of the smoky tendrils slithering down her throat and into her nostrils, almost turning her inside out.

"Stop it!" she screamed, clawing at the ground, trying to drag her body forward. She grabbed her wand, shooting a spell at the smoke, but it simply made a hole that reformed almost instantly. "Stop!"

And then – she couldn't believe it – Tom Riddle was there, in the smoke with her and moving freely. He bent down and grabbed her by the arms, wrenching her out of the smoke's grasp, and dragged her at least twenty feet away from the forest. Panting, he threw Hermione on the ground and pointed his wand at her. She tried to get up and he shot an Immobilus charm inches from her face. She froze.

"What - _the fuck_ – was - that?" he demanded, chest heaving.

"H-how did you know I was out here?" She gaped at him. "Did you actually follow me?"

His eyes narrowed at her. "I'm asking the questions, Hermione," he replied coolly. "Now tell me, what was that?"

"I…don't know."

He flicked his wand at her and the sensation of needles puncturing her skin, sliding in slowly and painfully over every inch of her, overtook her body. She shrieked. "Lie to me again and I won't be so easy on you, _darling_," he hissed, lifting the curse.

"No, I-I mean it! I don't know what that- AGH!" She broke off in a scream when he hit her with a different curse, one that hit her stomach like a whip and left an angry red welt behind, and his hand came down on her mouth next. With his other hand, he took hold of her hair and yanked her head back, crouching down to her level so he could stare directly into her tearing eyes.

"I did warn you, you know."

She couldn't believe it. Of all things, he sounded _amused._

"I was telling the truth, you bastard!" she snarled and his face darkened. He yanked on her hair again and she yelped.

"Want to run that by me again?" he asked lightly.

"Listen, I don't know anything about the smoke, except that it showed up after I tried to burn some books." _There, that won't give too much away, _she thought.

"You burned some books," he repeated incredulously. "Why on earth would you do that?"

She stared at him. His look of incredulity faded and was replaced by a devilish smirk. "See? You do know something." He forced her head further back and she gasped, her throat tickling when it was exposed to the chilly fall air. She couldn't see him anymore, just the star-filled night sky, and that scared her even more. "Tell me what you're up to, Hermione."

"Why should I?" she gasped.

"Because if you don't life will become very – let's say..._painful_ – for you very fast."

"I thought you said you'd 'never hurt me,'" she sneered.

"You lied to me first," he said, chuckling. "So why not repay the favor?"

"You lie all the time," she countered and gasped when he tugged her head even further back. It was getting hard to breathe. "Everyone thinks you're just some schoolboy with perfect manners and even better grades, but you're not like that at all."

Tom was surprised, but didn't show it. How could she know that? "So what am I then?"

"Evil," she spat.

He laughed and the sound was so soft and whispery it seemed to be part of the night. She jumped when she felt his nose glide over her throat, but couldn't move away with the death grip he had on her. "I think that's a matter of opinion," he breathed.

_Well, I think you're a loathsome evil git,_ she thought and bit her lip when he chuckled against her jugular, whispering, "I'm impressed, Hermione. You do a very good job of hiding your fear. However, your racing pulse tells another story."

He laughed when she shivered and his hand snaked inside her robes. She froze. What was he doing? Panic rang inside her and goosebumps erupted over her skin when his hand brushed against her stomach fleetingly – but then he was sitting up, releasing her. She sat up quickly, rubbing her sore head, and glared at him. "What the hell was that?" she demanded.

He flicked a fistful of her curly strands to the ground and leaned back, surveying her with gleaming black eyes. "Sorry about your hair," he said in faux apology. "I really do like it, but it's just so fun to grab." He winked.

_I can think of a few precious body parts of yours to GRAB_, Hermione thought darkly. Out loud, she said, "Can I leave now?"

"Hm, _'Destruction of Dark Texts_,'" he said, lifting the book she hadn't seen him knick and holding it just out of her reach. He smirked when she narrowed her eyes at him. "That sounds intriguing. What 'dark texts' have you been burning?"

Shitshitshit! Dumbledore would have her head if he knew how quickly she was sinking the task. She had to think of something, fast. A lie or a distraction or…something!

Seeing the frantic look in her eyes, Riddle slanted his eyes at her and started twirling his yew wand again. "You should know better than to try and lie, Hermione," he said softly, persuasively. "Things would be so much easier if you just told me."

"Things would be so much easier if you left me alone," she shot back.

"Ah, but this is so much more fun."

She huffed.

"I'm a very patient man, Hermione, I can wait," Riddle said and when she looked back at him he was staring at her through his long lashes. She looked away quickly, gulping. "I _will_ wait and I'll find out what you're hiding, Hermione, eventually."

No, never. She'd go to her grave before she told him a damn thing.

"Maybe I can help you."

No no no – wait, what? Hermione stared at him, shocked. "What did you just say?"

"I said I'd help you. If you help me, that is."

Ah, that made more sense. "What could you possibly help me with?" she asked suspiciously.

"I saw the way that smoke grabbed you. Whatever you did has obviously put you in serious danger," he said. "Besides, you'll never figure out what that smoke is on your own. I could help. Protect you."

She had to laugh at that and she did, long and hard. "W-what? You'll _protect_ me, after just threatening my life?" she gasped, clutching her sides. "You must think I'm really stupid."

"No, not at all," he said quietly.

That shut her up. Swallowing, she looked away. "What would I have to do? What do you need my help for?"

"I'm sure I can think of something."

"I don't agree to things blindly."

"The Forbidden Forest has been positively radiating Dark magic since you went in there yesterday," he said, leaning closer to her. His eyes glinted in the moonlight like onyx gems. "But you, Hermione, are positively _reeking _it. I can smell it on you."

He could smell it? Smell what? "Dark magic?" she asked, bewildered.

"Power."

After a minute she replied, "You still didn't answer my question."

"You are powerful, Hermione, but you don't know it," he said, gazing so intensely into her eyes she couldn't break away for the life of her. "So am I. I would help you-"

"Help me?"

"Yes, help you develop your magic," he elaborated. "You could be much more, Hermione, you just need to be pushed in the right direction."

"There's one problem with that."

He looked bewildered. "What?"

"I don't practice Dark magic."

Riddle's face went blank as a slate, completely void of emotion except for the disdainful quirk of his brow. "I never said you did." He stood up, extending his hand to her, but she ignored it and got to her feet, wiping the dirt off her stockings when she was standing. "Listen, there's a Quidditch Match at 12:00 on Saturday. Meet me under the bleachers and we'll talk."

"But I thought no one was allowed outside," Hermione said, confused.

"I was with Dippet and the other professors all day. Dippet decided that as long as the smoke isn't going anywhere it's safe enough to go outside, so tomorrow he's going to make an announcement at breakfast and unlock the castle."

"Oh." She nodded and surveyed him carefully. "And…what if I don't come?"

At this, he grinned at her – showing teeth for the first time - and his smile gleamed like the Cheshire cat's grin in Wonderland. She couldn't help but stare. "You will."

He walked to the castle without looking back.

* * *

"Route for me, ok, guys?" Augusta said. "You two can be my good luck charms."

"I don't know how lucky I am," Minerva grumbled, adjusting her sharp glasses. "I haven't even had my first kiss yet."

"There's nothing wrong with that, it just means you're not a whore like Meredith and those other Slytherin girls," Augusta soothed. She looked at Hermione and added hastily, "Except you, obviously. You're a catch. That's totally different."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Nice save."

Augusta rolled her shoulders and punched the air a few times, like a boxer winding up. "Alright, girls. Do it!"

Minerva and Hermione looked at each other helplessly – Minerva had been giving Hermione fewer suspicious looks and more friendly nods as of late – and together they leaned forward to blow on Augusta's lucky coin. When they pulled back the eager Keeper did an enthusiastic fist pump. "Awesome, I am officially lucky-fied. See you after the game!"

She waltzed off into the Gryffindor locker room. Hermione shook her head. "She really is superstitious, isn't she?"

"She sows a four-leaf clover into her bra before every game," Minerva said gravely, then looked at her quickly. "Don't tell her I told you that though."

Hermione laughed. "I won't," she assured.

When they arrived at the Quidditch Pitch it was overflowing with thousands of cheering students, mostly in gold-and-red and yellow-and-black. It was drizzling lightly and people had rain jackets on under their House-themed scarves. Minerva pulled up her hood and stepped out from underneath their umbrella, starting to scale the bleachers for seats, but Hermione stopped her. "Minerva, I – um – just realized I forgot my necklace back at the castle. I'm gonna go get it, but you can go ahead and grab us seats."

"Necklace?" Minerva said, surprised, and then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I've never seen you wearing any necklace."

"I carry it around in my pocket," Hermione explained. "I'll be right back, alright?"

Minerva looked flustered, probably trying to decide whether to act suspicious like her gut was telling her to or be polite. "Oh, well…do you want me to help you look?" she asked, politeness winning out.

"No, that's alright," Hermione said, already walking away. "I don't want to get bad seats!" She took off before Minerva could reply, weaving in and out of the clusters of students streaming in. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Minerva was still watching her – she wasn't, fortunately.

Something darted by her feet, startling her, and Hermione looked down to see a black cat scampering away. She frowned. What was a cat doing out in the rain? Shaking it off, she stole down the side of the pitch until she was underneath the bleachers, which trembled above her from the force of thousands of stomping feet welcoming teams as they flew onto the field. She hid behind a thick wooden beam that was twice as wide as she was tall and looked for Riddle. He said to be down here when the game started. Well, she was here. So where was he?

A few minutes later, Riddle entered from the opposite side. He wasn't wet at all, despite the rain, and had probably cast a repellant charm or something. His hair looked darker today though, as did his eyes. Black like that cat she saw. Softer than velvet.

She shook her head. She had to focus, to be on guard. The only reason she had come here at all was to get that book back and set things straight between them. _Be tough, _Hermione coached herself, stepping out.

Without looking at her, Riddle said, "I was wondering how long you planned on hiding back there."

Hermione bit back something sassy and approached him. "You're late, you know."

"And here I thought you might not show." A mocking smile graced his lips. "Did you miss me?"

_Not in a million years._ "You wish," she said coolly. "I'm just here to get my book back."

"Ah, that's unfortunate."

"Why?"

"Because I forgot it in my room," he said airily, leaning back against a column and crossing his arms. "It was quite an entertaining read though, I admire your taste."

She gaped at him, anger bubbling up inside her. "Listen, Riddle. I really need it-"

"Why?" he asked, finally looking at her, and when he did she wished he hadn't. She felt his Leglimency probing at the edges of her consciousness and averted her eyes, staring at the criss-crossing beams above them. He sighed in frustration. "It seems to me you already performed the ritual, judging by that cauldron you left in the Forbidden Forest. What books did you destroy?"

"It doesn't matter," she said firmly. "I just need the book back."

He was quiet for a minute and while she wanted to look at him her brain wouldn't let her. She couldn't chance it.

"Look at me, Hermione," he commanded quietly and when she didn't comply he said it again, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice, "I said _look at me_, you insolent girl," he hissed and grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her head up. She clenched her eyes shut and he chuckled. "You think that will stop me from getting in your head, do you?"

She swallowed. Things were getting way too far _way_ too fast. She had to stop this now.

"Look, Tom," she said, opening her eyes and staring directly into his burning black ones. "You've been very…accommodating…but I just don't think we should associate with each other anymore. We're very different. You're Head Boy and everyone in Slytherin seems to-" _w__orship the ground you walk on._ "-like you a lot. But I'm...eh..."

"Hermione."

She nodded. Yes, exactly! He couldn't counter that logic.

"You're an idiot."

"_EXCUSE ME?"_

He grinned. "Haven't you ever heard that opposites attract?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Resorting to bad pickup lines now, are you?" she replied tartly.

"Resorting to pathetic excuses to get away from me?" he countered.

She stayed silent.

"Now, I believe I mentioned a proposal last night…"

"No. The answer is no," Hermione interrupted.

"Tsk tsk, little witch, you haven't even given me a chance to propose my terms," Riddle said disapprovingly, tapping her nose. "I'm offering to give you your book back, help improve your magic…and find out what that smoke you're so obsessed with is."

"I'm not obsessed! I… It's my fault," she confessed, eyeing him. Was she wrong to tell him this?

But he wasn't immediately using the information against her; instead he seemed to be in deep thought, considering what she had said. Finally, he replied, "I figured as much. Did you read that book thoroughly?"

She blushed. "I – uh – was pressed for time."

"Well, you're obviously lacking in experience with Dark Arts, for if you'd practiced them before you would know a Dark ritual can be very easily – let's say – _persuaded_," he snorted. "And it seems you fucked up yours royally."

She glared at him. "I don't need you to tell me that, Riddle. Is this your definition of 'helping'? Because I must say your pep talk is pathetic."

He shrugged. "Just stating the facts."

"Well, what do I have to do in return for…your help?" Hermione asked, more than a little intrigued by now.

"I need to leave Hogwarts during Christmas break. However, I don't have anywhere to go." His eyes, which had been gazing at the Forbidden Forest in the distance, snapped back to hers. "You will invite me to your home for the holidays so I can leave."

"You can't be serious," she said, baffled. He wanted her to give him an alibi?

Riddle cocked a brow. "I am very serious, Miss Granger."

"Why can't you ask one of your friends?" And by friends, she meant totally nutters Death Eaters.

"Oh, you wound me," he said sarcastically, touching his heart, "and here I thought we were getting along so well."

"You still didn't answer my question."

His lip curled in what might qualify as a smile in Slytherin land. "Good girl," he approved, laughing softly. "I _would_ stay with my…friends…but Dumbledore would never allow that." His eyes narrowed, darkening. "He thinks I'll start trouble."

"He's right!" Hermione said before she could stop herself.

"He's a stupid old coot," Riddle snarled, but then recomposed himself. He smiled, an attractive twinge of his lips, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "That's why I need you."

"But…I can't help."

"And why not?" he said, annoyed. What was wrong with her?

"Because – because I'm stuck here too," Hermione muttered. "I have no family anymore." _You killed them all._

He was quiet for a minute. Surprised maybe? Calculating? She couldn't tell, not with him. Not ever.

"I'm sorry." His eyes flicked down to hers, soft and gentle, but they told lies. "What happened to them?"

"They were killed," she said flatly.

"By who?" This was a turn he had not anticipated. Perhaps Hermione Granger was more complex than she seemed…

"A Dark wizard."

"Grindelwald?"

Hermione started to shake her head, but stopped herself just in time and looked away from him. She couldn't believe herself! She'd almost done it, almost told him, almost ruined everything – all because he tilted his head the right way and softened his voice. He may have _looked_ like he cared, but he didn't. She had to remember that.

"This is kind of personal, ok?" Hermione said. Sadness and fury welled up in her barely contained, threatening to spill over. She took a deep breath, forcing it all under another mask. "Would you mind-"

"Of course," Riddle murmured, all understanding on the outside, but inside his mind was racing. He was ecstatic – and fascinated. He hadn't counting on learning that much about the girl today, but it turned out Hermione's secrets _could_ be unlocked with just the right look. He just needed to work harder. In fact, he wanted to. Wanted to know all her secrets, what was going on inside her head, what made her so…different.

He could put those sort of things to his advantage.

"I'm sorry I can't help you," Hermione said, averting her eyes again, "but there's nothing I can do."

He stared down at her and the sliver of light hiding in his eyes gave way to darkness. His mouth curved into a slight sneer. "I think we both know you're a terrible liar, Hermione."

"What happened to _darling?"_

"Ah, another good question," he said, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her so close their robes touched. She tensed. "But I believe pet names are null and void until you agree to my proposal."

"Until?" she repeated, slanting her eyes at him. "You sound a little overconfident."

"I'm not overconfident," he disagreed, pushing away the hands she'd put on his chest to keep them from getting too close, and tilting his head down to catch her eyes. "I'm right." When her eyes fluttered he smirked. She was such a fun toy, not like Elphy at all or any of those other nitwit girls. She was a challenge.

"Well...I _could_ get you out of the castle," Hermione said slowly, chewing her lip in thought. "But where are you going?"

"Out of the country."

_How vague of you, Voldemort_, Hermione thought sarcastically. "And all I have to do is get you out the castle?" she verified.

He leaned further forward, his forehead touching hers, and she gasped. Her eyes darted between his, which were utterly impossible to look away from at this proximity, and she stiffened when she felt one of his hands let go of her to caress her cheek. Stiffened because she didn't see a monster with red eyes and paper-white skin before her, but handsome Tom Riddle who made her throat go dry and lips ache. _Stop…stop…pull away now, Granger_! her brain urged, but her body wasn't having any of it.

"Yes," he murmured, watching with a dark satisfaction as she tensed up. It wasn't, however, the sort of satisfaction he usually felt when he knew he was close to getting what he wanted, but something more primal. Something that thrived off having Hermione so close, so cornered – _so completely focused on him._

Only him.

Hermione sucked in a breath, trying to clear her head, but that turned out to be a mistake when her senses were completely attacked by him. It was like being on the Astronomy Tower again, a breeze had rolled by and she'd smelled the most delicious scent, like cedar and rich earth – and that scent was here, all around her and coming from Riddle. She couldn't help but sway closer to him to get more of it. He held her tighter in response.

"Ok ok!" Hermione huffed. "I'll do it." She knew better than to ask herself what harm getting him out of the castle for the holidays would do, because she knew just how much Lord Voldemort could accomplish in a week away from any prying eyes. Still though, the pros outweighed the cons…didn't they?

"Excellent choice, darling," Riddle said, smirking in such a way the devil would tremble with unease. "I'll wait for you outside the dungeons at midnight and we'll go to the library to peruse the Restricted Section."

Hermione nodded, forcing herself to pull away, to step out of the loosened ring of his arms. Her body hated her for it, her mind let out a sigh of relief. "Will you bring the book?"

"I already have it." He waved his wand and 'Destruction of Dark Texts' flew out of his robe pocket, landing in her hands lightly. She gaped at him.

"Why, you lying son of a-"

"Save your smart tongue for later," he interrupted with a wicked grin. "You'll have all night to insult me amongst other things. However, the match ended five minutes ago, so I suggest you get back to your friends before they start to worry."

"F-five minutes ago!" she gasped, checking her watch. Damn it all, he was right!

Immediately Hermione took off toward the pitch, sprinting into the rain and not bothering with an umbrella. A few feet away from the stands however, where Minerva was probably wondering where the hell she was, a slim figure stepped into her path and she skittered to a stop. Dread filled her as she recognized the stranger.

"Hello Mudblood," Meredith said, smiling sweetly. "Up for a little chat?"

* * *

**AN: _Oy vey, _Meredith never gives up. Feelings on Hermione and Tom's agreement? Minerva's judginess? Complaints? *gasp* TYPOS? Tell me in a review! Thanks for reading, muah muah sloppy kisses...all that jazz. **


	9. Rendezvous in the Library

**AN: Thank you all for the reviews! I'm glad we're all together on hating Meredith. ;) A reviewerasked why Hermione couldn't just use her magic to manipulate Tom and the answer is the same reason why she magicked all the teachers except Dumbledore. Her magic (which will be explained later) can only be used on weak-minded wizards. For instance, if she tried manipulating Dumbledore he would sense it and overpower her, and then we'd have a big problem on our hands... **

**More on that in future chapters. **

* * *

"I'm shocked," Meredith said, touching her parted lips in mock surprise. "The French whore is all alone with no one to protect her! What were your Gryffindor friends thinking, leaving such a fragile thing all alone?" She batted her eyelashes in a very Elfy-like fashion, but the effect was ruined by that cruel smile on her face.

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Listen, I don't know why you hate me so much-"

"No, _you _listen," Meredith interrupted, a snarl marring her features. "I've had it up to here with all the bullshit you're pulling. You've got boys trailing after you like lost puppies, you're whoring around with Tom Riddle – hell, I bet you're shagging Black, too – and Malfoy even had the nerve to tell me off for hexing you-"

"Don't you mean trying to hex me?" Hermione said sweetly.

"Not this time. You've got it coming, bitch," Meredith retorted, lifting her wand. "_Dissendium!" _

A jet of red light flew out the end of her wand and Hermione stepped aside, easily dodging it. "Meredith, seriously. I don't want to fight-"

"_Flippendo!"_

This jinx wasn't as clumsy as the first and Hermione had to raise her wand to deflect it. She shoved down anger. "Meredith, stop it now!" she shouted and flicked her wand at a poor body bind. _Do not under any circumstances attack students unless absolutely necessary, Miss Granger, _Dumbledore had said. Did this count as absolutely necessary? Did his rules even apply anymore? She'd broken so many of them already.

"_Diffindo!" _

OUCH! Hermione yelped, grabbing her stinging arm. Another spell started to form on Meredith's lips but before she had even done the wand movements Hermione's own spell was flying from her wand, hurtling the girl ten feet into the air before throwing her down so hard she couldn't breathe. Hermione walked over and gazed down at Meredith where she lay on a pile of dead leaves and grass, gasping for air. "Had enough?" she asked.

Meredith got to her feet, shaking with anger, and was about to fire off another hex but just then the Quidditch Pitch released thousands of cheering students migrating to Hogwarts. The game was over. "You're gonna pay for this, Granger," Meredith hissed and with one last dirty look she joined the crowd.

Hermione rolled her eyes. What a drama queen.

"Hermione, where the hell have you been?"

She turned around to find Minerva glaring at her, arms crossed over her chest, and a flushed, sweaty Augusta beside her. "Well?" Minerva pushed. "Did you find that necklace or what?"

"Necklace?" Hermione repeated, bemused. Minerva's eyes narrowed. "Oh…right! No, I didn't find it unfortunately."

"Uh-huh," Minerva said disbelievingly.

"Oh let it go, Minny," Augusta interjected, recognizing the look on her friend's face. "We won. Let's go party!"

Minerva stared at her for a minute and sighed. "Alright, alright," she conceded. "Let's go."

Hermione started to go with them, but stopped when Augusta turned back and, waving, shouted, "Catch you later, Hermione!"

She froze and watched them – and all of the other students – empty the grounds. That was right…she wasn't in Gryffindor anymore. She was a Slytherin now and by definition not allowed to Gryffindor house parties. Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of aloneness engulfed her and she frowned under the rain, wrapping her arms around herself. She was a mess. Soaked, covered in mud, angry at Dumbledore for dying too soon and not telling her how hard this task really would be… Angry at herself for breaking so many rules so quickly.

She missed her real friends.

* * *

By midnight Hermione had already read _'Destruction of Dark Texts' _two times over but still hadn't figured out what it was she did wrong. Hopefully Riddle would be able to figure it out. _Riddle. _Was she crazy to make a deal with him? Dumbledore had severely warned her against the young Dark Lord. It was better that she stay under the radar, he'd said, but fate seemed to have a different plan in mind and here she was, getting ready to meet Riddle so they could have a secret meeting.

What alternate universe was she living in?

She tied up her hair and patted her robe pocket, which was bulging from the book inside it. She intended to return _'Destruction of Dark Texts' _since she had already destroyed several other library books. The least she could do was bring back one.

Hermione hurried downstairs and slipped out of the Common Room, stepping into the chilly corridor. Her eyes fell on a lithe figure leaning against the stone-brick wall, just outside the torchlight, and she nodded at it. "Tom," she greeted.

"Hermione." He smirked, the only part of him visible in the dark, and started walking. She fell into step with him.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked.

"The library."

"Oh good, I have a book to return."

She could almost _sense _him rolling his eyes at her. "That's what you're worried about? Not unleashed Dark magic and getting caught roaming the castle, but _books_?" he scoffed.

"What do you mean 'unleashed Dark magic'? What do you know that I don't?" she said sharply.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Oh, shut up," she muttered. It was much easier to talk to him in the dark when she couldn't be intimidated by any death glares or his archangel looks. "Answer the first one."

"I don't take commands, Miss Granger."

Now _she _rolled her eyes. "Ok, ok. _Please _answer the first question."

They were at the library now and he opened the door, stepping back to let her through. She hardly blinked and led them to the very back of the library, where Riddle lit a few lamps with a wave of his wand and sat down at a table. She joined him after leaving her book on the librarian's desk.

"Well, like I said before, you messed up the ritual," he began, giving her a severe look when she opened her mouth to interrupt. She shut it. "The books weren't properly destroyed. Now, their physical forms are gone but their essences are still here-"

"…in the Forbidden Forest!" she finished. Of course! He raised a brow. "Sorry, continue," she added hastily.

"As I was saying, their essences are hanging around, and how lethal they are depends on what type of and how many books you used. What books did you use?"

"Just some texts on Dark spells," Hermione said, averting her eyes as if she were embarrassed – and to avoid Leglimency.

He stared at her for another minute before finally saying, "I still don't understand why you would want to destroy some books, but if they were Dark spell based that would explain why they acted so violently last night."

At this, Hermione perked up. "So how do we get rid of it?"

Riddle shrugged. "That's why we're here." He paused and added with a mischievous smirk, "In fact, think of it as a…group project."

She scoffed. _I'm doing a group project with Lord Voldemort. _Fabulous. "Well, I'm going to go 'research,' if you need me." She waltzed off into the Restricted Section and let out a sigh of relief when she didn't feel his eyes on her anymore. It would take some time to get used to that intense gaze of his.

Thirty minutes later, she returned with twenty huge tomes floating in tall stacks around her. She pointed her wand at their table and the books landed there gently, billowing clouds of dust into Riddle's face. He coughed and scowled, looking up from his own text to glare at her. "Did you really have to check out half the library?"

"I'm nothing if not thorough," she replied sweetly and sat down across from him, grabbing the book closest to her and starting to skim the pages.

They read in silence, the only sounds in the library coming from their steady breaths and flipping pages. Hermione's eyes started to droop after an hour, but when she looked up Riddle looked as alert and focused as ever. Was he even human? She huffed.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers and he cocked a dark brow. "Something wrong, darling?" he said, voice thick with sarcasm and smooth as laden honey.

"Just tired," she said, rubbing her burning eyes. "Can we call it a night?"

"Sure…since you can't seem to handle staying up past bedtime."

She shot him a dirty look and waved her wand, sending all their books zooming back into place on the shelves. "Unlike you, I'm not an insomniac. I _like _sleep."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not an insomniac," he scoffed.

"Uh-huh." She flicked her wand. "_Nox," _she cast and they were plunged back into darkness.

"I've never heard of that spell before," Riddle murmured from right behind her and she yelped, whipping around and shoving him. Or what she assumed was him, at least.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" she hissed, further enraged by the whispery sound of his laughter. "Would you stop that?"

He did, so abruptly she wondered if he'd disappeared altogether. She couldn't see anything and all she could hear was the sound of her breathing. She swallowed. "Er…Tom?" she whispered.

"Yes?"

Oh good, he hadn't ditched her. She slumped in relief. "Which way is the exit?" she asked. She knew the library front, backwards, and side-to-side…just not in the dark. She was as blind as Trelawney without her giant specs in the dark.

She jumped like a cat when she felt his hand wrap around hers and a snort came from the blackness, near her ear. "Relax, Hermione. I'm just answering your question," he murmured and proceeded to pull her through the library, around tables and somehow dodging every stray book on the floor.

"Do you have this place memorized or something?" she whispered, grabbing his robes when she stumbled over a rug.

"If I said yes..."

"To spare your feelings, I wouldn't reply," Hermione replied, allowing herself a grin. Now that she thought of it, she was having more fun sneaking around the library with Riddle than she ever had with Augusta and Minerva. _Weird. _

He chuckled. "You've never done that before."

"Don't be such a baby."

"So now I'm an insomniatic baby," he said gravely. "I never thought I could learn so much about myself in one night."

She shrugged. "I'm only here to help."

They finally found the doors and Riddle pushed them open, walking through with her. It was slightly less dark in the corridors, where torches threw flickering lights into the air and scattered wobbly halos across the stone floors. Still eerie, but better.

"Hermione, when you said you lost your family to…a Dark Wizard…earlier, did you mean Grindelwald?" Riddle asked after a few beats of silence.

Hermione tensed and bit her lip. She knew that playful banter wouldn't last long. "Yes," she finally said, a lie but hopefully not a transparent one.

Luckily, Riddle seemed to believe it.

"Is that why you moved here?" He looked at her. "To escape?"

"Yes, my parents were in Germany working with wizard friends of ours against Grindelwald and he found them and... murdered them, including the rest of my family which he found soon after," she said slowly. "I was at Beauxbatons at the time and it was deemed unsafe for me to be there, since he'd probably come for me next-"

"A teenage girl?" Riddle said, surprised.

"Yes," she said ominously, more weight in her words than he'd thought her capable of. "You'd be surprised at what Dark Wizards would stoop to."

"Anyway," she continued after a pause. "I was transferred here since Hogwarts is a lot safer and…that's that. I'm hiding out." She shrugged.

It was silent again and she was sure he wasn't going to speak, but a few halls away from the Slytherin common room he did, speaking in a voice so low it was almost lost under the sound of their footsteps. "My mother died when I was born."

Hermione looked up at him, not so much shocked at the information but the fact he told her, and glanced away hastily when she saw he was gazing emotionlessly ahead of them. She swallowed, aware she was treading on shaky grounds. "And your father?" she asked cautiously.

He tensed and she knew that'd been the wrong thing to say, but there was no taking it back now. She stiffened in return and waited for him to turn on her and say _"Crucio!"_ but instead, a hiss of air escaped Riddle's clenched teeth and he replied curtly, "I don't have a father."

Hermione blinked at the venom in his words. More surprising than them however was that she understood what he was saying. She couldn't believe it, but she did. She even...almost sympathized him. It didn't make any sense considering he had killed nearly everyone she'd ever known or cared about and it was terribly ironic, but there it was. For this Tom Riddle, this young Voldemort, she felt sadness.

Not remorse though. Never remorse.

"Why did you burn the books, Hermione?" he said abruptly, turning those black eyes on her, and they were burning with curiosity. "Does it have to do with Grindelwald?"

"I can't tell you," Hermione repeated. "For the record though, no, it doesn't." Before he could ask another question she added, "Can we please resume the Spanish Inquisition tomorrow? I'm beat." To emphasize her point, a huge yawn escaped her, contorting her face as she stifled it in her sleeve.

Riddle's brows drew in frustration for a split-second, but then the emotion was gone – tucked away behind another layer – and he was smiling at her again. It was unnerving, Hermione thought as she stared into his suddenly void eyes, how easily he could hide his true feelings. She never knew what he was really thinking.

They arrived at the dungeons and Hermione rapped the stone bricks with her wand before he could, uttering "_pure blood" _with more than a little bite. The wall slid back to reveal the empty common room and Hermione paused, glancing back at him unsurely. "Are we going to meet tomorrow?"

"Yes, at midnight." Riddle smirked. "Can't wait to see me again?"

"Like I said, you are ridiculously overconfident and egotistical," Hermione said, shaking back her hair like a regal lion or some sort of queen. "I can hardly look forward to more of your self-directed compliments."

His eyes narrowed. "And I'm hardly looking forward to more demeaning comments and academia-themed lectures, you brat," he retorted, lip curled.

They were both lying.

Hermione grinned. "Well, since my presence seems to be such a burden to you I suppose I'll go now," she said. "Goodnight, Mr. Riddle."

She started to pull away and he tightened his hand around hers, stepping close enough to make her tense up. "Without giving me a goodbye kiss?" he taunted. "How rude of you."

_What? _Hermione stared at him, shocked, and gasped when his hand trailed down her back. "Dizzy?" Riddle asked, a smirk the size of Great Britain on his face.

"I'm just sleepy," Hermione snapped.

He cocked a brow. "And a little touchy, apparently."

They stared each other down. After a moment Hermione stood on her toes, smoothing her hands over his chest, and leaned into him. He stumbled back a step, surprised, and tensed when she put her warm mouth on his ear. He stayed still, waiting to see what she'd do next, and tilted his head toward her when her eyelashes tickled his cheek.

BANG! She hexed him into the hall with so much force he fell on his arse and from inside the common room Hermione howled with laughter at the enraged look on Riddle's face. She wiggled her fingers at him. "Goodnight, _darling,_" she giggled a second before the wall slid shut.

Tom cursed.

* * *

**AN: The next update is on Christmas and miiight involve a showdown between queen bee Meredith and Hermione. Please review and tell me what you think of the chapter so the next one can be even better! Happy Holidays! **


	10. Got Some Fire

**AN: Merry Christmas everyone! Thank you for all the reviews and faves. Go Tomione! Xxxx **

* * *

Hermione had no idea what she'd been thinking last night Stunning Tom Riddle – the epitome of evil! – out of the common room, but she was still snickering over it during breakfast in the Great Hall.

"What could you possibly be _giggling_ about this early in the morning?" Riddle asked when he arrived, taking his seat beside her.

Hermione stopped laughing and took a bite of toast. Quietly, so that only he could hear her, she said, "You're not sore, are you? I didn't mean to hurt you last night."

He glared at her.

Bursting into laughter, Hermione hid her red face in her hands and tried to control her snorting. The Slytherins around them stared at her in shock. Granger was _laughing _at Tom Riddle and…he was letting her? Abraxas looked lost.

Riddle rolled his eyes. "Now I see why you need so much sleep, your sanity obviously depends on it," he muttered, pouring two cups of orange juice and sliding one to her. "Here, choke on this."

She looked up, cheeks pink but giggles subsided, and accepted the orange juice with a little chuckle. His lip was curled in a poorly-concealed smile, she noted, as he speared his scrambled eggs.

Meredith and Fabia entered then, but instead of sitting on the opposite side of the table as they usually did they headed toward Elphy, who was pretending to have forgotten the homework for Charms and asking Riddle about it. Hermione stiffened, all traces of humor gone now, and watched Meredith closely out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't forgotten the girl's threat. What was she up to now? Another Mudblood joke?

Meredith gave Elphy a meaningful look and, with a frown, the girl shifted down a seat. Fabia sat on the other side of her and Meredith took her place next to Riddle. Elphy watched them with sharp eyes.

"Tom," Meredith began, turning to him. "Remember how I told you my birthday was coming up soon?"

Hermione – and all the other Slytherins at the table – listened closely for his reply, but he didn't answer, merely glancing at Meredith disinterestedly as if to say, _Now I do. Your point?_

"Well, you won't believe what my grandmother got for me as an early Christmas present," she continued braggingly. "It's some sort of an heirloom and I think it belonged to one of the Founder's, although I can't remember which… Well, no matter, it's worth a fortune anyway. Here, have a look, everyone."

She pulled out a simple red leather case and all the students at the table – Hermione included – leaned in for a better look as she tapped the little gold lock. Riddle's expression was unchanging…until Meredith opened it.

Hermione was the only one who noticed the swift play of emotions on his face, as everyone else was staring at the gold locket bundled in black silk Meredith had revealed, but she saw him and she _knew. _That wasn't just any rich girl locket Meredith had been given. No, it was _Salazar Slytherin's Locket, _the very one that had been passed down generation after generation through the Gaunt family until Merope Gaunt had sold it on the streets of London for money. The one that would eventually become one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

Hermione felt fear run through her, cold and piercing as a sword forged out of ice, at the flash of rage and poisonous envy on Riddle's face. It wasn't fear for herself though, it was fear for Meredith.

Meredith glanced up from the beautiful locket to see Riddle's reaction, but was disappointed. He looked unimpressed as ever. "It's solid gold and embedded with diamond and emeralds," she added and several Slytherins "oohed" and "ahed" at that. Meredith shrugged, as if the billion-dollar heirloom were nothing. "What do you think of this old rock, Tom?"

_Wrong question to ask, Smith, _Hermione thought.

"It belonged to Salazar Slytherin," Riddle said softly and immediately all the clamor and excited murmurs at the table hushed to hear him. "It's priceless." He glanced at her. "Impressive."

Meredith smiled hugely and shut the case with a tap of her wand, packing it away in her schoolbag. "I think I'll wear it to Sluggy's fall soiree on Wednesday," she said and Fabia started to pepper her with questions on her dress and what make up she was going to wear. Riddle turned away, eyes cast down and brimming with a million thoughts Hermione wished she could tap into.

When Hermione and Riddle entered Potions Slughorn called her to his desk, while Riddle continued to their table. Hermione approached the beaming professor cautiously. What was he grinning about this time?

"Hello Professor," she said politely. "Did you need something?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," Slughorn said, ever happily. "I would like to invite you to join a little society I run-" _Oh no, _Hermione thought with dread. _Not again! _"-and it's strictly for the most intelligent wizards and witches Hogwarts has to offer. No no, there isn't any extra work required, my dear. We simply meet once or twice a week to chat. We're like family really and it's a wonderful way to establish connections with renowned wizards, which will certainly help you move up in the world after graduating Hogwarts…"

As he rambled, Hermione gazing bemusedly at his racing walrus mustache which wiggled up and down with every syllable that passed his lips like a flopping half-dead fish. She tried to formulate a kind way to reject him in her mind, but that plan went down the drain at the next thing he said.

"In fact, I am hosting a soiree Friday night," Slughorn babbled. "Dress is formal, but I really would love to see you there mingling with your classmates. I know how hard it is to be a new student in such a large school."

Hermione thought of Meredith. Meredith, who had been nothing but cruel and downright nasty to her since the first day she arrived, but who had the Slytherin locket and was in danger of Riddle's wrath. She was going to Slughorn's soiree and although Hermione hated her she couldn't let the girl have a chance to be alone with Riddle, who was part of the Slug Club too and could easily corner her there. But, if Hermione were at the soiree, she could easily keep an eye on both of them…

Why couldn't she be more selfish, like Draco Malfoy?

"I would love to come," Hermione said, flashing a winning smile at Slughorn, who clapped his hands delightedly.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" he exclaimed. "I look forward to seeing you there, Miss Granger."

Five minutes into the period Hermione was paying close attention to Slughorn's description of the top five most deadly poisons and taking intricate notes when Riddle spoke. "So I take it I'll be seeing you at the soiree Friday night?" he murmured.

"Wha… Do you have bat ears or something?"

"I am skilled at all things, Hermione, including the five senses," Riddle replied smoothly.

"And big-headedness."

His jaw twitched, just barely, but she saw it. "Hatred is just a more concentrated form of jealousy, you know," he said, a little bitingly. "Do you envy me, darling?"

"Hm…yes, I think you may be onto something," she said, pretending to think deeply, and tapped her lip with the feathery end of her quill. "Ah yes! I envy your ability to take notes without any writing utensils." She gave him a pointed look and resumed her note-taking.

"Silly Hermione," Riddle said, lip curling in amusement. "I don't need notes. I hear it once and know it forever."

"Lucky you," Hermione grumbled.

He smirked. "So you're admitting that I am good at something?"

"Yes, I give you an Outstanding in the Annoying Art of Pestering Me."

"How clever of you."

"_Merci._"

"Ah, so you are French," Riddle said, eyeing her with a piqued brow. "I had begun to wonder."

"I recall you calling my accent 'subtle.'"

"Yes," he said, leaning forward with that look on his face. The one that meant she was about to be interrogated, that he was onto her, that she needed to be more careful about what she said. She tensed. "Explain that. You are from France, your family was fighting Grindelwald in Germany, and yet…" he trailed.

"I was born here," Hermione said dismissively, eyes on her scroll so he couldn't read her lies. "Mum and Dad liked to travel a lot though, so we moved to France, but they later relocated to Germany to fight Grindelwald. I stayed in France and lived with my grandparents, but was at Beauxbatons most of the time."

When he didn't reply Hermione glanced up at him. Did he know she was lying? She'd thought it was a pretty good cover story, but he _was _the real master of manipulation… "How can you speak so easily of your family's deaths?" Riddle surprised her by asking, stopping her paranoid thoughts. He looked uncharacteristically confused.

Hermione paused. Quietly, she asked, "How can you?"

Riddle turned away to face the front of the classroom, where Slughorn was getting off-subject again and blabbering about some ex-student turned aristocrat. "I am an orphan," he replied drily. "I got used to death a long time ago."

Hermione smiled ironically. _Funny, so did I. _

* * *

After an uneventful Herbology during which Regulus gave Hermione a friendly nod and Augusta lamented the idiocy of studying plants she and Augusta started toward their next class, as was per usual now. Minerva joined them shortly after, juggling a giant stack of books.

"Here, let me help," Hermione said and flicked her wand at the toppling tower, which rearranged itself into a perfect pile and floated alongside Minerva merrily.

"Thanks," Minerva said tightly, for she hadn't quite forgiven Hermione for bailing on her at the Quidditch match.

"No problem."

The awkward silence was broken by Augusta, whose blue eyes went wide and puppy-like when Professor Chanté suddenly strode down the corridor. Minerva looked equally affected as the professor shot all three girls a boyish smile, flicking the blue quill stuck behind his ear absent-mindedly, and stopped before them. "Hello, ladies," he greeted and his eyes fell on Hermione, who was struggling to read the title on one of Minerva's fatter texts. "Hermione, have you been practicing your dueling skills?"

Hermione's head snapped around to face him and, eyes comically wide, she stammered, "I was supposed to?" She scrambled through her bulging schoolbag, searching for her planner. "I mean, I don't remember you assigning any homework yesterday…"

"No, no!" he laughed, inducing less than discreet sighs from Minerva and Augusta. Hermione pulled her hands out of her bag, looking relieved. "We're going to have a little dueling lesson today, that's all."

"Are you French?" Augusta blurted out then blushed. "I mean, uh, sometimes I think I hear this accent when you're teaching. I was just wondering if-"

"Augusta, _shut it," _Minerva hissed, not so stealthily jabbing the Head Girl in the waist.

"What? He has an accent!"

Professor Chanté looked bewildered, but amused. "Belgian, Miss Longbottom. I'm from Wallonia. You are French, are you not, Hermione? What part of France are you from?"

"Um, Nice," Hermione said, startled.

"Ah, the beaches there are lovely in the summer," he said approvingly and then checked his watch. "Well, I must be going, ladies. I have a class of antsy fourth-years in two minutes." He caught Hermione's eye again and winked at her. "Practice those hexes, alright, Hermione?"

He walked away, whistling merrily, and Augusta performed a fake swoon once he was a few feet away, landing on Minerva, who shoved her off with an exasperated huff. "He's the only cool professor Hogwarts has seen in the last century," Augusta sighed, watching him walk away with half-lidded eyes. "_You will be mine, Professor Chanté_," she stage-whispered, pretending to reach after him.

"I wonder what his first name is," Minerva murmured thoughtfully.

"He looks like a Charles," Augusta said and cocked her head. "Or maybe a Garret. What are some Belgian names?"

"Christof? Alard?" Minerva guessed.

"And I thought Augusta was the only boy-crazy one," Hermione tutted.

Minerva scoffed. "Oh, poppycock! Go to class, Miss Granger, before we can taint your almighty prudiness," Augusta teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes and entered Transfiguration, taking her seat at the front. Soon after Riddle strode in, Abraxas and Dolohov at his side, and nodded at her with a little smirk that made Hermione feel strangely…buzzy. Like she was back on the Astronomy Tower inhaling the scent of cedar and smoke, or under the bleachers at the Quidditch Pitch when Riddle had been so close to her – and she'd been far too close to liking it. She shook off the feeling.

Riddle's two cronies, seeing his acknowledgement, followed suit and dipped their heads in her general direction; except when Abraxas did it he tossed his pale blonde hair back and winked at her.

_Hex Abraxas into oblivion, _Hermione scribbled on the corner of her planner, so she wouldn't forget, and snapped it shut just as Dumbledore began his lesson. They were studying methods of transfiguring various parts of the human body, it was one of the most challenging arts in Transfiguration, comparable to Animagi in difficulty, and the goal of today's lesson was to change at least one facial feature.

After a brief lecture Dumbledore released the class to try the newest spell, _Morphus. _Hayley Abott, beside Hermione, looked frustrated as she repeated the spell again and again – with the incorrect pronunciation. Hermione looked across the room of floating mirrors and red-faced students at Riddle, who looked for all the world like Narcissus gazing into his reflection. She watched, helplessly transfixed, as his bow mouth said the incantation and the young Dark Lord's lovely features shifted from striking angles and symmetry into Abraxas' face. A second later Riddle swished his wand and Abraxas' square jaw and blue eyes conformed back to his aristocratic features.

Hermione turned back to the mirror bobbing mid-air in front of her and found her narrowed brown eyes gazing back at her steamily. He'd gotten it on the first try! The spell Dumbledore had said normally took weeks to even trigger a reaction from had been perfected by Riddle in a matter of seconds. _Figures_.

Hermione cleared her throat, concentrating, and pointed her wand at her nose. "_Morphus!" _ Oh no, that wasn't right. She'd stressed the _"or" _instead of "_phus." _Sitting up straighter, she tried again but with little success.

The image of Voldemort abruptly came to her mind, his ghostly image paired with high-pitched, cold laughter, and anger sparked through her. How could a _murderer _be better at spell-casting than she was? The world didn't make sense.

"_Morphus," _Hermione cast again, with more vehemence, and the tip of her nose shifted upward slightly. She gritted her teeth, glaring into her reflection, and her heart beat faster. The faint scent of cedar and smoke drifted over her as she clenched her wand. "I said…_Morphus_!"

The spell jetted out of her wand, shooting into her skin, and all at once her features altered. Her skin grew white and chalky, her eyes turned ruby red, and her nostrils lengthened, shrinking into slits...

"Miss Abott, try sitting up straighter and picturing your target eyebrows clearly in your mind. Now, wave to the right, left, up, down, up, and say the incantation, please," Dumbledore said pleasantly from right beside Hermione.

Shit! Hermione waved her wand and dissolved the spell a split-second before Dumbledore turned to her. Immediately, her skin lost its pearly parlor and her eyes stopped flaring brilliant red. She barely suppressed a relieved sigh as Dumbledore smiled kindly at her.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted, while Hayley Abott struggled to imitate his graceful wand movements from behind. "Have you mastered any particular facial features yet?" he asked, unaware that she'd transformed entirely just a second ago.

"Um…yes, I think so," Hermione said, trying to hide the quiver in her voice, and turned back to her reflection - which was thankfully serpentine-free, but still a little pale. Her mind was racing. What had just happened? Did she really just master that spell? Had she actually started to transform into _Voldemort _just because she'd thought of him a split-second before casting it? How had she even done that? She'd always been a fast learner, but never _that _fast. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to regain control of herself. _Do not think of Voldemort, _she thought firmly before raising her wand to her temple. Dumbledore smiled at her encouragingly.

"_Morphus!" _she cast.

Students around them watched, impressed, as Hermione's curly hair straightened and turned light blonde, followed soon after by the darkening of her skin tone. Hermione felt the spell slip from her slightly but pushed at it harder, and her button nose slowly curved into a sharp hook. She gritted her teeth as her eyes changed from brown to green, and freckles dotted her cheeks.

The illusion flickered for a split-second and Hermione's real face reappeared, looking frustrated. _Oh, come on! _she thought._ WORK._

Just like that, the blonde hair, green eyes, freckles and hooked nose returned in full-force, but unlike on her first try the image held firmly in place. It didn't look like a wavering illusion at all. She looked…_real_.

Wow.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, sounding as surprised as she felt. His auburn brows were furrowed slightly. "Very impressive… Have you ever cast this spell before today?"

"No," Hermione said and let the blonde girl's face vanish to be replaced by her own confused one. "I mean…Transfiguration was not a core subject at Beauxbatons," she added carefully.

"Well, you must simply be gifted," Dumbledore said, smiling at her with a calculating glint in his blue eyes that Hermione had never seen before…directed at her, at least. "Ten points to you, Miss Granger." He shot her one last thoughtful look before moving away to help the next student, who had accidentally turned his hair into blue tentacles and was cursing at his wand.

Hermione sat down, ignoring the curious stares around her, and gazed at her wand. _Me, gifted_? No, that wasn't right. Tom Riddle was gifted. He didn't need notes, ridiculous study habits, extra lessons from the Headmaster, or anything of that nature. It was like Riddle had told her: once he heard it, he knew it.

But Hermione wasn't like that. She repeated things to know them, did triple homework to be at the top of her class, and used every ounce of free time she had to better herself. _She _was not effortless, nor talented; she worked hard to be brilliant. Something was wrong here.

Not that she was complaining about it.

"Hey Hermione," Hayley Abott said, pulling her from her thoughts and sending her a hesitant smile when she looked at her. "Could you give me a few pointers on that spell? I can't even lengthen a nose hair."

Hermione smiled at that. "Yeah, sure." She picked up her wand and slowly demonstrated the proper movements. "Just move your wand like this. See, it's all in the elbow…"

When class was over Hermione was heading out the door discussing last week's Quidditch match with Hayley when Dumbledore suddenly said, "Miss Granger, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Hermione turned around, surprised, and met Dumbledore's warm twinkling eyes with a frown. "Am I in trouble?" she asked cautiously.

"No, not at all, Miss Granger," he chuckled, moving to the middle of the classroom where Fawkes was perched on his stand, and started to feed him.

Hermione waved goodbye to Hayley, who gave her a friendly smile before leaving the classroom, and made her way over to Dumbledore. Dumbledore was – no matter what time period she was in – exceptionally bright. Was he suspicious of her? Did he see her features turn into those of a snake? Did he know what year she was really from?

"How are you feeling today?" Dumbledore surprised her by asking.

"Me?" she said stupidly and then reprimanded herself. Who else could he be talking to? The chalkboard? "Oh, I'm alright…"

He nodded, feeding Fawkes another tough piece of dragon hide, and glanced at her sideways. "Not tired?"

Hermione blinked. Tired?

Dumbledore smiled. "Students lead very busy lives," he elaborated, "juggling their classes, homework, extracurricular activities…friends. It's very easy to overexert yourself." He tilted his head at her and she noticed how penetrating his blue eyes suddenly seemed. They were certainly sharper than they'd been a moment before and she was vividly reminded that Dumbledore was a skilled Leglimens. She averted her eyes. "It's also very easy to make the wrong kind of friends," he added.

Hermione looked up at that. "What do you mean, professor?" she asked, bemused.

Dumbledore glanced down at his folded hands and smiled sadly. "Surely you know, Miss Granger, that not everyone is what they seem. I see you have befriended Mr. Riddle and I'm glad to see that you are so at home here in Hogwarts. However," he paused, considering his next words carefully, "it's easy to get lost in the…beauty…of the castle. The illusion."

"I'm sorry, professor," Hermione said uncertainly. "Are you saying the castle isn't safe?"

"Two years ago, a terrible event occurred here and a student was killed because of it," Dumbledore began, but paused at the glint of understanding that passed through Hermione's eyes. "You've heard this story before?" he asked.

"Oh, well – er – a friend mentioned it in passing," Hermione mumbled, embarrassed for not having controlled her emotions better. She hadn't practiced in quite some time admittedly. "Someone opened the Chamber of Secrets, right?" she said, as if unsure.

"Yes…someone." Dumbledore glanced at her meaningfully before continuing. "Evidently, Miss Granger, Hogwarts has not always been safe. She, like any other, has her secrets."

"Ah." Hermione nodded, as if she understood the encoded message he was giving her…except she didn't.

"I just want you to be careful," Dumbledore added.

"About the friends I make and…the castle?"

"Exactly!" he confirmed, beaming at her as if she'd finally figured out the answer to a very long, complex equation. "Now, I don't want you to be late for your next class, Miss Granger," he said with finality. "I will be seeing you tomorrow."

"Oh shoot!" Hermione exclaimed, glancing at her watch. She had exactly two minutes until the bell rang and if she was caught in the halls without a reason Gregovitch would probably dock points _and_ give her detention just because he didn't like any human being other than himself. "Er, yes, I better get going. Thank you, professor, for the…talk." _I think? _"See you tomorrow."

"By the by, Miss Granger," Dumbledore added, just as she was about to hurry out the door. She paused, looking back at him expectantly. "The library is a wonderful source of knowledge, but it is easier to read books in the daylight, don't you think?"

Hermione stared at him, understanding visibly dawning on her, and blushed bright red. Dumbledore winked at her. "One minute and thirty seconds," he reminded her and she cursed again, hastening out of the Transfiguration classroom. Dumbledore was laughing as she left.

Hermione went to the library. She arrived late, but no one noticed fortunately, and she made herself comfortable at a table in the very back where she dropped her schoolbag on the seat beside her and sank into a chair herself. She sighed, burying her face in her hands. How could she be so _stupid?_

Dumbledore, somehow, knew she'd been at the library with Riddle last night _and _he thought they were friends! She snorted. As if. She'd never make friends with her archenemy, with someone so evil and morally deformed. Sure, he'd made her laugh a few times, but that didn't mean anything, not in the long run… Dumbledore was right. Appearances were deceiving and she couldn't let Tom Riddle's beautiful outlook cloud her judgment. She had to be careful, sneakier than he, and stay a step ahead.

_Speaking of steps._

Step three, she supposed, was complete, but the books had been destroyed with nasty side effects she still wasn't entirely sure about. Half of the Forbidden Forest was still poisoned with that smoke – the book essences, Riddle had said – and no one was allowed to go anywhere near it. Hermione had to figure out a way to get rid of it, but first she needed to learn more.

Hermione spent the rest of the period scavenging the most ancient, untouched parts of the library. She came across hundreds of books on books, but not on their essences…until she happened upon one tome in particular, titled '_Ancient Volumes & Relatable Practices.'_

Hmmm, that sounded about right. She pulled the huge text out and dragged it over to her table, bunkering down and flipping through the contents for a good chapter. Her sharp eyes flicked across the pages quickly and in seconds she had found the passage she wanted: '_Books [of magical matter] contain energy called essence, which is composed of the general matter of the specific text. Through essence the books acts according to its subject."_ Hermione was surprised. She'd never wondered why books in the Wizard World could wail or snap their pages like hungry jaws (much like _'the Monster Book of Monsters' _Hagrid had assigned in third year, now that she thought of it) and perhaps that was even why Voldemort had chosen a diary for a Horcrux.

Hermione leaned in to read more, but was dismayed to find the passage ended there. In fact, that was the only information on essences in the entire book. '_Through essence the book acts according to its subject.'_ Was the author talking about Light and Dark magic? What happened when the essences were released? Had it ever happened before?

She didn't know, but she needed to find out quickly, and before the timeline could be permanently damaged by her fluke.

Hermione was about to go get more books, but the bell rang just then, and the few students around her zipped their bags shut and hurried out of the library before Professor Wiber could hex them for not putting away their books. Hermione reluctantly sent her own texts flying back into place with a flick of her wand and trudged out of the library. Research would have to wait.

In Arithmancy Abraxas smirked at Hermione as he walked by her to his desk and shot her indiscernible looks all through class, to which she responded with steely glares. Ancient Runes passed quickly after that and Professor Manson assigned a two-foot long essay (although Hermione was already planning to write a three-foot long one) and Riddle talked to Dolohov the entire period – unfortunately, he was too far away for her to eavesdrop on, atlhough she was sure whatever he was talking about had something to do with Meredith. A prickle of fear shot down her spine at the reminder. According to Dumbledore, Riddle had gotten Slytherin's locket from Hepzibah Smith, Meredith's grandmother, so what had changed to bring it to him sooner? Why was time so delicate?

Hermione was walking to DADA when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around, but no one was there. _Huh?_

"Over here."

Hermione turned again to find Regulus Black grinning at her. She blinked, surprised. "Oh hi, Regulus," she said. "Um, did you forget the homework for Herbology?"

"Nah." He fell into step beside her, curly black hair bouncing with his every jaunty step. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh."

"How's it going?"

"Good, I guess."

He nodded. "That's good."

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence and Hermione broke it by bluntly saying, "Regulus, who put you up to this?"

He looked flabbergasted. "Uh, what d'you mean?"

"I mean," she said coolly, "why are you really here? Some Slytherin put you up to this, right? 'Go pretend to be friends with that pathetic new girl and then levitate your lunch onto her head tomorrow'." She stared at him accusingly.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Oy, you're as bad as Tom."

"I'm nothing like him!" Hermione said with surprising vehemence. Regulus stepped back, hands held up in surrender.

"Sorry, it's just you're incredibly smart, a little sneaky, and…really paranoid," he muttered, grinning when she glared at him. "You can't deny the facts, Hermione."

"They're not facts," she said petulantly. "Those are just inferences."

"I rest my case! You are a total know-it-all," Regulus said triumphantly.

"I've been told," Hermione said drily, but she was smiling. Hesitantly, she added, "So I take it nobody actually put you up to this?"

"Nah, like I said, I just wanted to talk to you," Regulus said. He felt bad for lying to her, but what he'd said was half-true, wasn't it? No one had put him up to _talking to her_. Voldemort's specific orders were to…simply keep an eye on her.

"Well, this is my stop," Hermione said, pulling him out of his thoughts and coming to a halt outside of the DADA classroom. "See you in Herbology."

He nodded. "See you."

Hermione entered the classroom and paused on the threshold. What was going on? The room had been cleared of all desks and the chalkboard was wiped clear of writing except for the words 'Dueling! Pick a partner.' _Crap_! She'd forgotten all about Professor Chanté's dueling lesson! If she'd known, she would have come sooner.

The bell rang and Hermione spotted Minerva in the cluster of excited students huddled at the end of the classroom and hurried toward her. Squeezing into the crowd of bodies beside the hawk-eyed girl, she said, "Hey Minny. Do you want to partner up?"

"I can't, I've already been paired with Parkinson," Minerva growled and shot her a beady glare that vividly reminded Hermione of her future-self. She wilted a little under the force of it. "Why didn't you get here earlier? Now I have to work with this-" Minerva jerked her thumb at the girl next to her, who was currently making goo-goo eyes at Professor Chanté. "-empty-headed bimbo!"

Hermione smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I got delayed. Regulus Black talked to me on the way here."

"He asked you out!" Minerva gasped, shocked, and successively attracting the attention of several students around them.

"No, of course not!"Hermione said exasperatedly. Couldn't a girl in the 1940s talk to a guy without any implication of romance? On second thought, that probably wasn't so common in this era. Hermione shook it off. "We were just talking," she said firmly.

Minerva looked suspicious. "I thought you didn't talk to any of those _Slytherins_."

"Well, they _are _in my house, so it's not as if I can really avoid them," Hermione said uncomfortably. "Besides, Regulus isn't all bad."

"Hm."

Hermione was saved from responding by Professor Chanté, who shot a few dozen red sparks at the ceiling and clapped his hands for attention. Beside her Minerva, who had seemed to completely have forgotten about Regulus, sighed. "He's so handsome." Hermione hummed in agreement, but she was hardly listening. Professor Chanté had begun.

"Welcome to Dueling everyone!" he began with a charming smile that scrunched the edges of his sea-blue eyes. "If you've read the board then you know you should all be sectioned off in groups of two by now. Now, listen closely! Your partner – for today's class –" He paused for effect. "-is your enemy."

The class burst into giggles and eager murmurs at this. Professor Chanté shouted over them, saying, "Now, I know some of you aren't very familiar with defensive spells, but do your best to use what we've learned here in class to protect yourself from your opponent. I'll walk around to help anyone who needs it. Questions?"

He looked around expectantly. No one spoke.

"Alright, get to it!" He jettisoned another round of sparks at the ceiling and the students shrieked in delight, scrambling into rows and assembling themselves. Hermione watched as Minerva faced off Parkinson, casting a few well-aimed_ Reductos, _and searched for Riddle in the confusing throe. She found his lithe form at the very back, effortlessly deflecting Nicholas Edgecomb's jinxes, and watched as he entertained the fight for another minute or two before losing interest and knocking Edgecomb flat on his back with a lazy flick of his wand. Professor Chanté hurried over, helping a very woozy Edgecomb to his feet and congratulating Riddle.

"He really is too good for you, you know," an unpleasantly familiar voice said from behind Hermione.

Yes, _that _unpleasant voice.

"Good to see you too, Meredith," Hermione said sarcastically.

"I'm just warning you, Tom is way out of your league and he'll lose interest in you soon enough…once he gets what he wants." Meredith winked.

Hermione's eye twitched and she itched to grab her wand but restrained herself. In a tight voice, she replied, "I thought I was 'the French whore.' Haven't I already given him what he wants according to your little rumors?"

"Exactly!" Meredith exclaimed, putting her arm around Hermione's shoulder and squeezing it warmly as if they were good friends. "That's what I don't get. He's already shagged you, so what else could he want?"

"Meredith, shut the fuck up."

Meredith stared at her, shocked, before she threw her head back and laughed so loudly she drew the attention of the entire class. Professor Chanté, Hermione realized as she looked around at the curious faces, was gone and must have left with Edgecomb to take him to the infirmary.

"Ooh, French girl has some fire in her," Meredith sang, although there was an edge of steel in her brown eyes. "Your – ahem – _clients_ must like that."

There were some guffaws at that from the crowd of spectators that had formed around them and Hermione clutched her wand tighter. It was taking all of her control to restrain herself from hexing Meredith into the next dimension. _Just wait until Professor Chanté gets back, _she told herself, but catching Minerva's angrily slitted eyes, Hermione knew she might not be able to.

"Come on, Mudblood. I told you you had it coming," Meredith goaded, shoving Hermione hard in the shoulder and making her stumble back. She smiled slyly. "I challenge you to a duel."

Suddenly, Professor Chanté strode back in and the students around them scattered, hurrying back to their positions and resuming their own duels. Professor Chanté's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he went back to surveying the pairs. Meredith, who apparently wasn't finished, shoved Hermione again.

"Well, Mudblood?" she said impatiently. "Everyone else is paired up. You've got to duel me!"

Hermione realized with dread that Meredith was right. Professor Chanté would notice if they were the only two students not dueling and if there was anything Hermione hated as much as prejudice idiots it was a bad grade. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Fine."

Meredith grinned. "Excellent." They stepped away from each other until the proper amount of space stood between them and bowed, although Meredith's was more of a half-hearted bob. She straightened, raising her wand, and without any sort of warning shot a Stinging Hex at Hermione.

Hermione jumped out of the way, missing the spell by inches, and glared at her. "You couldn't warn me?" she shouted and Meredith shrugged.

"Why would I tell my enemy I'm going to attack them?" she scoffed. "That isn't anyway to-"

"_Locomotor Mortis!" _Hermione cried and Meredith's legs snapped together as the spell hit its target. Meredith floundered for a minute before casting a quick counter charm and responding with a sloppy "_Reducto!"_

Hermione cast a yellow-blue shield out of habit, although she didn't need to in the face of Meredith's awful aim, and grinned at Meredith tauntingly. "Is that all you've got, Smith?"

Meredith's face reddened. "_Reducto!" _she shouted again, but her spell bounced harmlessly off of Hermione's shield. Hermione yawned into her hand theatrically and students already finished with their duels laughed, watching the girls' face off excitedly. Meredith's complexion turned even darker with anger.

"_Incendio!" _she screeched.

Hermione was so surprised by the spell that her shield flickered for an instant and Meredith's magic rushed through, setting the edge of her robes on fire. Students gasped around them and Professor Chanté rushed over to help. However, Meredith's triumphant grin quickly melted away when Hermione swept up the burning flames with the tip of her wand and threw them back at her, shouting, _"Circlus!"_

The hot flames raced toward Meredith, who screamed and threw her arms over her head in fear as they formed a blazing circle of fire around her. They weren't higher than a foot and she could have easily hopped over them if Hermione hadn't spurred them on.

But she did.

Hermione's heart beat faster and that strangely exhilarating rush of adrenaline coursed through her body, strengthening her magic and churning it into the spell. The flames in response rose higher than ever in a deadly rush of flames that soared upward, nearly touching the ceiling, and heat from the fire warmed Hermione's face. Meredith screamed from inside the blistering ring.

"_Finite Incantutum," _Hermione cast and the flames dissolved in a hiss of smoke, revealing a shuddering Meredith inside it.

The class stared at her.

Professor Chanté's mouth was hanging open.

Slowly, the rush of dueling wore off and Hermione swallowed. She'd really done it this time, hadn't she?

"WOOHOO! Go Hermione!" Minerva suddenly shouted, breaking the silence, and the rest of the students broke into cheers a second after.

Hermione's cheeks warmed and relief washed through her. She'd thought she had ruined it all: the task, her cover, _everything, _but.._._judging by the class's reaction things were far from over. She grinned.

"_Fantastique! _I didn't know you had it in you, Miss Granger," Professor Chanté said thrillingly, coming forward. "I thought you didn't take Defense at Beauxbatons!"

"Well, I – um – practiced a lot outside of class," Hermione explained.

He beamed at her.

The bell rang and students walked out, clapping her on the back and giving her high-fives as they passed. Hermione felt warm all over. She was embarrassed, but also…thrilled. Was this how Harry felt when he was training Dumbledore's Army?

"_Flippendo!" _

Hermione shrieked as she was thrown off her feet and propelled into a row of desks jammed together at the edge of room, landing in a clumsy heap on top of them. Her hip smashed into a wooden edge and she hissed, flipping over to face a heaving Meredith. "What the hell was that, Meredith?" she demanded, outraged.

"Compensation," Meredith sneered, brushing back her haywire black hair and the sweat off her face with shaky fingers, "for embarrassing me like that in front of everyone!"

"Miss Smith, you've just earned a week of detention and lost your house fifteen points," Professor Chanté interjected suddenly, casting an _Expelliarmus _and catching Meredith's wand mid-air_. _Meredith gasped and sent him a withering glare. "Apologize to Miss Granger for your immature behavior, please."

Swallowing, Meredith turned to Hermione. Venom entrenching her voice, which was sweet as three-year old syrup, she hissed, "I apologize..._Miss_ _Granger_." She spun back around to face Professor Chanté, ignoring the remainder of the class that had stayed behind to watch the show, and crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her hip. "Can I have my wand back now?"

"No, come back for it at eight o' clock when your detention begins," Professor Chanté said coldly and pointed at the door. "Please leave, Miss Smith."

"You've got to be kidding me. It was just a bloody joke!"

"Shall I extend your detention to two weeks?"

Meredith emitted a little scream, huffed, and whirled around, rushing out of the classroom in a streak of whipping black hair and stylishly-cut robes. Professor Chanté dismissed the rest of the students, asking Hermione to stay behind.

"I'm sorry about Miss Smith's behavior, Hermione," he said once everyone was gone, glancing at the door Meredith had just stormed out of warily. "Are you alright? You took a pretty hard fall."

"I'm fine," Hermione said, embarrassed. "Thank you for – er – intervening."

"Miss Smith will leave you alone in my class from now on," he said firmly. "So, at least for this period, you don't have to worry about her."

Hermione grinned. "Thanks." Augusta was right. He _was _cool.

Professor Chanté flicked the blue quill behind his ear, a sign he was thinking hard about something, and his blue eyes were surprisingly eager when they met hers again. "Hermione, I think you would be a great asset to the Dueling Club," he said suddenly, startling her.

"Oh…I don't know," Hermione said, thinking hard for a good excuse. "I don't really have a lot of extra time what with studying and Professor Slughorn's club."

"Oh, you joined the Slug Club?" he said, disappointed, and chuckled at her shocked expression. "Oh, I know all about your little nicknames," he said, tapping his quill knowingly. "What do they call Professor Rubens? Professor Rubenesque? It's not even clever, really. I wonder if _I_ have a nickname…"

"I wouldn't know, but Augusta and Minerva were trying to guess your first name earlier."

"Oh really?" he said, amused. "Well, if it really interests them it is Lucas."

"Oh, it does," Hermione affirmed. "They're your number one fans." _Augusta and Minerva are going to kill me when they find out, _she thought with an internal snicker.

Professor Chanté smiled his boyish smile. "Hermione, you really are very skilled at dueling, you know. If you won't join dueling club, would you consider private lessons for extra credit? I could see you being an excellent Auror in the future."

"Oh, um, maybe," Hermione said cautiously. Extra credit _did _sound very appealing, now that he mentioned it…

"Keep it in mind," Professor Chanté said, squeezing her shoulder and pulling back after a minute.

"Yeah, I'll – um – think about it."

He beamed at her.

"Well, I have to go so I'll see you tomorrow, professor," she said, backing away toward the door.

"Lucas," Professor Chanté corrected with a playful wink that probably would have knocked Minerva and Augusta flat on their backs.

Hermione, however, just stared at him blankly.

"Well, off to the Great Hall with you, Hermione," Professor Chanté said, a little awkwardly. "I wouldn't want to keep you from dinner."

"Yes, professor," Hermione replied automatically, though a tinge confusedly.

She left the DADA classroom with a hasty goodbye. Outside, the hall was filled with students meandering about now that classes were over, and she let out a loud sigh. She'd definitely had better days, although dueling Meredith _and _beating her in one go had been one of the finer points of time-travelling back to 1943.

Hermione was distracted from her thoughts by a streak of black, which shot past her feet and nearly tripped her on its way to the girl's toilet. Hermione stared after it, shocked. It was that mangy black cat! Was it someone's pet…or was it _someone_? The last time she had seen it had been on the Quidditch Pitch, on her way to meet Riddle, but the thought of Voldemort transforming into a cat alone was laughable. Minerva wasn't an Animagus yet either, since she was not registered (and Hermione knew _no_ version of McGonagall would deliberately break the rules), so it couldn't be her.

_Oh whatever, _Hermione thought and resumed her walk to the Great Hall.

It was just a black cat, really. What was she fussing about?

* * *

**AN: _Is_ it just a black cat? What about those essences? What's Tom thinking? Is Professor Chanté's name really Lucas? (Just kiddin', of course it is.) Are you going to review? Did you like it? Will I ever stop asking questions? *deep breath* Anyway... Thanks for reading! **


	11. Private Lessons

**AN: *calling all faithful Tomione shippers* Thank you so much for the awesome response on the last chapter! Some of your reviews made me crack up (do I sense a Teacher Appreciation day for Professor Chanté coming on? _wink wink)_ and I really loved the feedback and speculations on the minor details like black cats, etc. I hope you like the new chapter, although the chapter title might deceive you... ;)**

* * *

Entering the Great Hall, Hermione saw Augusta and Minerva laughing merrily at the Gryffindor table, and her 'fellow' Slytherins on the opposite end of the vast room, looking about with arrogant smirks and conversing in low tones. Again, Hermione wondered at the Sorting Hat's decision to place her in Slytherin. She really didn't belong there at all.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it now on any account.

Hermione briskly crossed the hall and avoided looking at Meredith, who was fortunately sitting on her side again, as she approached the table. She felt even more intimidated when all the Slytherins – and she meant _all_, for every occupant there was blatantly staring at her - looked up to watch as she sat down beside Riddle. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but as she started to fill her plate the stares didn't disperse, and her cheeks went hot as iron skillets.

"Tom," she hissed under her breath, leaning across him under the pretense of getting corn. "Why is everyone staring at me? Do I have something on my face?"

"Other than that fake smile? No," Tom murmured. "They are all, however, very impressed by your duel against Meredith today."

Hermione looked at him, puzzled. He, Meredith, Dolohov, and Parkinson were the only Slytherins beside her in their DADA class. How could anybody else know about that duel?

As if reading her mind, Abraxas interjected, "Word gets around fast at Hogwarts and I heard you kicked Meredith's arse, Mu-" At Tom's sharp look, he blanched, faltering. "…uh, _Hermione_." Abraxas grinned goofily to cover up his fault, flashing a full set of perfect white teeth at her. She wasn't impressed.

Regulus rolled his eyes and leaned forward, elbowing Abraxas out of the way so he could be heard over the general commotion in the Great Hall. "What this idiot here is trying to say is everyone heard you and Meredith dueled-"

"More like Meredith dueled and Hermione was fighting to keep her eyes open!" Parkinson interjected, snickering.

"I saw it all," Dolohov bragged. "Hermione actually _yawned _when Meredith shot a spell at her!" He turned to Hermione, smirking. "I think she hadn't even realized you had put a shield up."

"And she kept using the same jinx," Parkinson added and pretended to whack an imaginary wand haphazardly through the air. "_Reducto! Reducto!" _she squealed in a surprisingly good imitation of Meredith.

"Fabia told me she got three days of detention from Chanté," Abraxas said.

"No, it was a week," Hermione interrupted without meaning to, her know-it-all habit to correct any wrong information kicking in. She snapped her mouth shut quickly though, uncertain whether or not she should have spoken, and stared back at everyone uncertainly.

Dolohov and Abraxas broke into roars of laughter.

"A _week?_" Abraxas howled, snorting. "She'll never last. Chanté will probably have her clean Pixie droppings and she'll faint from overexertion!"

"Or the smell," Dolohov snickered.

"It was supposed to be two weeks," Hermione admitted, feeling oddly invigorated as everyone looked to her eagerly to hear more. She'd never been popular in her time at Hogwarts, nor Muggle school. "She attacked me after class, but Professor Chanté saw us and took her wand."

"Meredith, wandless?" Parkinson said disbelievingly, with a little evil smile. "Oh, she won't last another hour without her annual Hair-Straightening Charm."

Regulus glanced down the table at the girl herself, who was glaring angrily at any student who dare walked by her, and said, "Meredith has never lifted a finger for anything other than her hairbrush." He shook his head, dark curls bouncing lightly. "Talk about spoiled rotten."

_As if any of you aren't, _Hermione couldn't help thinking, but then berated herself. Why was she defending Meredith? The girl had attacked her and the Slytherins were, in their own way, supporting Hermione. Why shouldn't she just enjoy this while it lasted?

So as the Slytherins reenacted the match against Meredith Hermione laughed and nodded at the right times, feeling for the first time since she came to 1943 as if she belonged somewhere. Sure, that somewhere happened to be at her old house rival's table and with a bunch of conceited snobs, but underneath all their mockery and smirks they were almost…comforting. Their hard, haughty exteriors made her feel protected as Abraxas vowed to hex Meredith if she so much as tried to trip Hermione again.

"Oh, I doubt that will be necessary," Riddle said, speaking for the first time since she'd sat down and hushing the rest of the table within seconds. Everyone watched him with bated breath. "Hermione seems to be able to look after herself, doesn't she?"

There were various murmurs of agreement at this and Riddle reclined, waving his hand lazily to imply he was finished – much like a king signaling his jester to start the show, Hermione noted – and the Slytherins started recounting the duel again. Hermione was listening half-heartedly to them, not really interested in the story the third time it was told, when the sensation of a hand on her knee startled her.

Riddle's hand, to be exact.

Strangely, Hermione didn't immediately shake it off. She didn't feel tingly where he touched her, like in those romance books filled with electric touches and demented passion, but much more than that – she felt _magnified. _All her senses went on high alert and her heart was speeding up again, blood roaring behind her ears as her eyes dilated and every hair on her body stood on end – just like in Transfiguration, in the Quidditch Pitch, on the Astronomy Tower. Was that alluring scent back again, too? she wondered and sniffed experimentally. Immediately, the scent of cedar, burning wood, and split-earth rushed into her.

It was the scent of Dark magic.

Hermione glanced at him, startled, but he wasn't looking at her and instead watching Elfy Wictz tell an amusing story involving a party at her summer home and a half-dressed Prime Minister. Hermione's stomach was tangled in knots and for the rest of dinner she couldn't stop thinking about _his _hand. It was just sitting there, not even trying to make a move on her - simply still. Was he reminding her of his presence? Or did it make him feel like..._this_ too? Hyperaware.

Then he finally ended her internal crisis and did _something_.

"Meet me at ten o'clock, not midnight," Riddle said under his breath, lips that could have been carved by Bernini and envied by Lucifer hardly moving at all, and tightened his grip until she nodded. "I don't want you falling asleep on me again."

Hermione didn't laugh. "There's – um - one problem with that," she started uneasily and Riddle looked at her sharply, pulling back – and taking that electrified feeling with him.

"What?" he demanded.

"Dumbledore saw us at the library."

Riddle blinked, obviously not having expected that answer, and his normally emotionless eyes flashed with anger for a quick instant. However, it evaporated into midnight-black orbs a second later and the only signs he had any emotions left were his taut jaw. "Why do you say that?" he said quietly, narrowed eyes scouring the staff table and resting on Dumbledore.

"He spoke to me after Transfiguration and sort of…implied it," Hermione admitted. _He told me I should stay away from you. _

And she knew Dumbledore was right.

"Figures that old coot can't mind his own bloody business," Riddle sneered so viciously Hermione flinched. She averted her eyes when he looked back at her. The tone he'd used reminded her of his future-self…of Voldemort. "Hermione?"

She looked back up hesitantly and was relieved to see the coldness had melted out of his eyes – at least, for the most part – to be replaced by curiosity. "What's wrong?" he asked, staring at her intently.

Hermione glanced around the table nervously, but it was mostly empty now that dinner was minutes from being over. Meredith and Fabia were long gone. Abraxas was talking to Regulus. "Nothing," she muttered and looked back at him. "Why?"

Riddle arched a brow in reply and Hermione rolled her eyes, standing to leave. He stood too. "Oh, never mind," she said. "How will we meet if Dumbledore is watching us?" She still wanted to find out how to get rid of the essences and why they were so violent. She assumed it was because the books she'd burned were based on Dark magic, but she still needed more proof before she could be sure.

Hermione glanced back at Dumbledore as they left the Great Hall and was disturbed to find him watching her with sharp blue eyes she couldn't read for the life of her. She was thankful as the large oak doors swung shut, cutting them off from his view.

"I'll take care of it," Riddle said vaguely, pulling Hermione out of her paranoid thoughts. "Meet me at ten o'clock in the dungeons."

"But-"

"_Hermione._"

"Oh fine!" she huffed. "But your plan better be good or else-" She couldn't think of a good threat, so she just settled for glaring at him.

"Are you trying to threaten me?" Riddle asked softly, meeting her severe glower with a wry smirk. "Because you're about as intimidating as a handicapped kitten."

Hermione gaped at him. "I can't believe you just compared me to a disabled household pet!"

"Oh, rest assured, if you were a kitten you'd have very sharp claws, so you wouldn't be …entirely defenseless," he snickered.

"I'm going now."

His eyes danced with amusement. "See you soon," he said from behind her.

Hermione rounded the corner and headed to the Slytherin dormitory, greeting the portraits politely as she passed them. She uttered the password, which had fortunately been changed by now from _Pureblood _to _Ophion_, and stepped through the entrance into the Common Room.

Inside, it was filled to the brim with Slytherins. Older students relaxed on the sleek leather couches, a group of first years were huddled around the Wizard Chess set in the back, and two shady-looking fourth years ascended the staircase to the boy dormitory with what looked like pipes fisted in their hands. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly at their backs. Where were the prefects when you needed them?

"Hey Hermione, over here!" Regulus called from one of the suede sofas. "Come sit with us." Elfy agreed and waved Hermione over too, scooting over to make room. Hermione walked over cautiously.

"Er, hi," she said awkwardly, sitting down. Dolohov and Abraxas were there too, although they were situated around the fireplace and discussing Quidditch with an intensity Hermione could never comprehend. She was just starting to relax a bit when the topic of today's gossip strode in, a parcel in-hand and her long black hair thrown carelessly into an elegant bun.

You guessed it: Meredith.

Meredith didn't seem to realize Hermione was even there however, as she confidently strutted over and placed her mail on the mahogany coffee table, sweeping aside Regulus' pile of homework to make room. "Hey, watch it!" Regulus cried, quickly waving his wand just in time to save his essay from diving into the hot flames of the fireplace.

"Sorry, Black, but look what I've just received from my owl," Meredith said excitedly and lowered herself to her knees, quickly unwrapping her present. "Mother's sent me treats straight from Belgium."

"Ooh, what kind? Toffee?" Dolohov asked.

"Truffles," Meredith corrected and held up a large silver tin of them for proof. Abraxas eyed them almost as hungrily as he eyed girls' chests. "I thought I would share them with you all."

"Well, they do look good," Regulus said slowly. "But…you've got to give some to Hermione too."

"Uh, no, that's really not necessary," Hermione tried to say, but it was too late.

Meredith looked shocked and her head whipped around, dark eyes searching for and landing on Hermione quickly. Her eyes narrowed and she looked like an angry wolf who had just been threatened of her place in the pack. Glancing over Hermione disdainfully, her eyes slanted further. "You're sitting in _my_ seat!" she hissed, jumping to her feet, and immediately the rest of the Slytherins had their wands drawn and trained on her. Elfy even stood up.

Meredith looked scandalized. "Oh, so now you're on her side just because she's got a few tricks up her sleeve? So what? She's a _Mudblood._" When no one responded her harsh breaths quieted, the look of fury on her oval-shaped face vanishing, and she bit her lip. "Elfy?"

"I was wrong about Hermione," Elfy said simply, "but we're over it now and if you can't get over it too then you'll have to leave."

Meredith gaped at her, but a moment later snapped her mouth shut and nodded her head almost imperceptibly. She swallowed. "I…oh alright," she sighed and turned back to Hermione, a big smile plastered on her face. "Sorry…Hermione. Would you like a chocolate?"

It was right then Hermione realized as Meredith's chocolates were passed around that this wasn't the heir to the Smith's fortune simply being nice to her friends and offering them treats. She was trying to slip her way back into their good graces, to win them over, and Hermione was just an unlikely threat. That was how it worked in the house of snakes: you bribed, shamelessly flattered and tricked in order to get what you wanted. Slytherins were – no, they _had _to be sneaky.

Or they would be kicked to the curb.

"Thank you," Hermione said, taking one of the sweet truffles offered to her, and watched as Meredith sat in front of the fireplace beside Abraxas' legs, tracing the intricate designs on the silver tin with a manicured finger as she gazed at the chocolate melting in Hermione's hand. Feeling self-conscious, Hermione popped it into her mouth.

"Taste good, doesn't it?" Meredith said softly.

Heat crept into Hermione's cheeks as she remembered the last time Meredith had said that, the horror of seeing mud swishing in the gravy boat and everyone laugh at her. Now though, the Slytherins stared at her with bated breath waiting to see her reaction. Without breaking eye contact, Hermione smiled and replied, "Yes, it's scrumptious."

Meredith looked away.

Abraxas yawned loudly, stretching his arms above his head and revealing a strip of taut stomach that did not go unnoticed by a group of nearby fifth year girls, who giggled when he winked at them. Elfy rolled her eyes. "Twat," she grumbled.

"Well, I'm going to hit the sack," Abraxas announced. "See you all in the morning." He mock-bowed to Meredith, who sneered at him in return. "M'lady."

"I'm heading out too," Regulus said, gathering his essay and ink. "I have a paper due on death omens and superstitions tomorrow and I haven't even read the damn book yet."

_That's something Harry and Ron would do, _the thought flew into Hermione's mind without warning and she stiffened as a wave of sadness ripped through her. _Forget it, Hermione! Forget them. _Forgetforgetforgetforget_. _Slowly, her pain ebbed away and hid in the very back of her mind, locked away where it would not be touched again. She relaxed.

Meredith and Dolohov left next, although she'd missed their excuses, and as Elfy passed her she asked whether she was coming too. Hermione shook her head.

As Hermione stared into the crackling orange flames across her she realized Meredith had left the silver tin behind, which was oveflowing with cellophane wrappers that resembled rainbow confetti. She checked to see if anyone was watching and once satisfied, turned back to it. She called on the unique magic Dumbledore had taught her, the magic she'd so painstakingly learned to wield, which now gently hummed in her palms like a buzzing bee. Usually, it was just a faint tickle but this time it felt stronger as she concentrated, coming to her more easily than it ever had before.

Experimentally, Hermione nudged it beyond her palms and grinned victoriously when the magic shot up to her elbows. She had been practicing for two _years_ and the magic had never gone past her hands, which was why she had to touch a person to put thoughts in their mind. It was a handy trick Dumbledore had taught her and warned her to use sparingly, for it was easy to overuse it and accidentally turn everyone around you into mindless puppets.

_Ok, so far so good, _Hermione thought and urged it to go even farther. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she coaxed the magic into a pliable, stretchy medium, and it spread up to her shoulders, shooting down her back in a warm vibration that made her shudder. Soon it was surrounding her entire body, invisible to the naked eye but so _there. _Pulsing around her faintly, light as a spider's web but not anywhere near as delicate.

She opened her eyes, which had involuntarily squeezed shut, and refocused on the silver tin. Trying to get the tin to come over was a bit of a stretch, but she might be able to get one of the wrappers. She stretched out her arm toward it and the magic didn't shatter around her, but moved with her like a second skin.

_Come. _

Nothing.

_Accio wrapper!_

Zilch.

Hermione stared at the wrapper intently. What was she doing wrong? The magic was strong around her, more than ready to be put to use, and she knew that if she understood it she could do so much more than summon an empty tin of chocolates. Maybe if Dumbledore had taught her more or given her some information… Hermione huffed, frustrated, and the magic buzzing around her eagerly fizzled out.

So much for that.

The sound of grinding brick emitted from the other side of the empty room and Hermione turned around to see Riddle stride in, hands clasped behind his back and looking for all the world like a gentleman out of a Jane Austen novel. He turned to her and a smirk lifted his sly mouth, distracting her.

"You have chocolate on your face," he said and pointed at his own chin. "Right here."

Hermione stared at him in shock for a second and then scowled, scrubbing away the dot of chocolate quickly. "It's a pleasure to see you, too, Tom," she said sarcastically.

"You won't need that," Riddle said, nodding at the schoolbag she'd just picked up. "We're not going to research."

"But-"

"Just for tonight," he said and rolled his eyes at her indignant expression. "I believe our deal had multiple circumstances. On my end, one of them was research and the other was helping you practice magic."

"Can't that wait?" Hermione huffed. "What if the essences get violent again? What if someone is attacked?"

"No one is allowed to go anywhere near the Forbidden Forest," Riddle said, waving away her concern. "Besides, a bit of range in subjects is good for the cultivating mind."

Hermione started to protest and in an instant he was right in front of her, invading her space, and had tightly grabbed her chin. She gasped. "Hermione, I'm not asking you to do this," he said softly. "I'm telling you, so listen: we are going to work on your magic. You will put your schoolbag away and meet me here in no more than two minutes. Understood?"

She looked away, levelling her glare on a tapestry of a reeling hippogriff behind him, and when she spoke it was in a voice loaded with restrained anger and frustration. "Yes, Tom."

He sighed. "You're doing it again," he tsked and she saw his smirk widen in her peripheral vision. "Avoiding eye contact."

"Better?" she snarled, glowering right into his black gaze, which now sparkled with amusement.

"Much."

Hermione wrestled away from him and readjusted her robes and bag. _Stupid control freak._ She stomped toward the stairs and had to restrain herself from flipping him the bird when he said, in a taunting tone, "One minute and thirty-one seconds."

Hermione dropped her schoolbag on her bed and hurried back out of the dark dormitory of sleeping girls before anyone noticed her. _Lucky them, _she thought jealously. _They don't have to stay up until midnight getting bossed around by the egotistical Dark Lord._ How did her life come to this?

She met Riddle at the bottom of the stairs and immediately he set off, leading them out of the common room and coming to a stop at the edge of the dungeons. He turned around to face her and she jerked back a step in surprise, instinctively whipping out her wand. He rolled her eyes at her overreaction.

"I'm going put a Disillusionment Charm on you," he explained and waved his wand over her head. Instantaneously, she felt the sensation of eggs dripping down her body, and vanished from sight. "Since Dumbledore saw us last night he'll be looking for us again, so just in case..." He finished by tapping his wand on his own head and he, too, disappeared.

"What are you doing?" Hermione hissed, slapping away an invisible hand when she felt it reach for her, and Riddle's voice sneered back sarcastically, "Well, unless _you _know where we're going do lead the way. I can completely see where you're going, after all."

"Point taken," Hermione muttered and reached her hand out blindly. "Where are you?"

"Right here." His hand clasped around hers, surprisingly cool, and she gasped as her heart beat a little faster. What _was _that? She hadn't felt that…shock...back in the common room a minute ago.

_More mysteries, _Hermione thought, not enthusiastically.

"Don't trip," Riddle warned, his silky voice floating out of the darkness like a phantom's, and proceeded to lead them throughout the castle on quick feet. Hermione struggled to keep up and not step on his shoes – or at least, not too many times – and gratefully caught her breath as they paused on their seventh moving staircase. It swung into place and then Riddle was briskly leading them through winding hallways again.

As he took them down one particular corridor, stopped and told her to stay put before walking back down the same corridor again, Hermione understood where they were going. Why hadn't she thought of it before? _Of course_, Riddle would take them to the Room of Requirement. His future-self had hidden a Horcrux there and as a schoolboy she understood he often hid out here. Dumbledore, if Riddle wished it, would never find them.

Hermione had to admit it was a genius idea. Why hadn't she thought of it?

After going back and forth down the hall for the third time, Riddle stopped beside her, not even slightly breathless, and led her to a door that had just finished forming in the previously-empty wall. It swung open as they approached it and the two walked through, lifting their Disillusionment Charms once they were inside.

Hermione looked about the large room, which had plain white walls and was void of any furniture or decoration. "How did you find this place?" she asked, but Riddle didn't answer her and instead took off his robes, revealing a white button-down with the Slytherin emblem on it and black trousers. He flicked his wand and his robes folded themselves before zooming across the room to land on a suddenly manifested shelf.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, startled.

"Getting comfortable." He smirked at her as he flicked his finger through the top two buttons at his throat, arching a brow. "Are you going to wear that stuffy thing all night?"

"It's erm, kind of cold in here-" Hermione began, but stopped when the temperature immediately rose a few degrees, adjusting to a pleasant warmth.

"Better?" Riddle said innocently.

"Just peachy," Hermione grumbled and pulled off her robes quickly, sending them to land on a shelf right underneath Riddle's. She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "What now, Professor Riddle?" she mocked.

Ignoring her condescending tone, he stepped forward and, looking quite business-like, put her arms at her sides. Her skin grew warm through the sleeves of her shirt, like his casual touch had been fiery imprints. She drew her wand. "No, you won't need that," he said confidently and she put it away slowly, eyeing him curiously. Catching her look, he added, "I said I'd help you develop your magic, not your wandwork."

"Why does it even matter to you?" she asked before she could stop herself.

At this, his movements slowed and, carefully, he stuck his wand in his back pocket and stepped back to regard her with those midnight black eyes. Or were they just a very dark brown? _No_, Hermione thought, staring into his blank gaze, they were definitely black. A genetic defect.

A beautiful one, admittedly.

"I keep my promises," Riddle said simply, and then his voice went sharp and dominative in the width of a second. "Close your eyes."

"What are you going to-"

"Look at it this way, darling. If you question every single thing I do we're never going to get any work done," he said in a show of exaggerated patience. He raised his brows at her when she didn't respond.

Sighing, she shut her eyes.

"Magic isn't just incantations, hand-eye coordination, and memorized wand movements," Riddle's bodiless voice lectured from somewhere in front of her. "It comes from inside and if it is strong, it's physically noticeable around you. Tangible."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll show you." When she started to open her eyes, his hand clapped over them and his mouth was at her ear in a second, hissing, "Did I _tell_ you to open your eyes?"

She froze, every hair on her body standing on end. "N-no," she stammered. "But you said-"

"I said I'd show you. I didn't say you would need to see."

That piqued her curiosity enough that she didn't say something snippy in return. Instead, she nodded silently and slowly he lifted his hand from her face. "Use all of your senses _except _sight," he instructed. "Just…pay attention."

He muttered a spell she didn't know and while Hermione desperately wanted to open her eyes to see what was happening – she hated being so vulnerable – she didn't. It wasn't that she trusted him. No, that wasn't it at all. She just didn't want to piss him off again. Hermione's hand twitched at her sides as she felt something new in the air, as well as a drastic increase in temperature. She stepped back, trying to get away from it, and Riddle's voice came at her as sharply as a cracked whip. "No! Stay put."

She stilled, although everything inside her told her not to, and let whatever _it _was come to her ever so slowly. She could imagine it inching toward her, crackling like a livewire, and bit her lip hard when it paused a breath away from her.

"What's happening?" she whispered.

"Don't move," he said. "It shouldn't hurt."

"Shouldn't?" she squeaked, but the thing had already charged at her.

Her throat clenched on a scream as it swept over her, but she didn't let it loose as a tingling spread through her entire body a second later. Whatever Riddle had unleashed on her wasn't a thing or even completely existent, and as she gradually forced her taut body to let go of some of its tension she realized it was _magic. _Like in the common room when she had tried to summon the wrappers, in the Great Hall when Riddle touched her…in the Forbidden Forest.

But this magic was different. It was Riddle's magic: powerful, unbridled, and inescapable as it caressed her skin in electric whispers. She shivered and then she felt hands on hers, fingers sliding through her own, and a forehead rest against her. "You can feel it?" Riddle said, and either she was crazy or he sounded…surprised.

_Aren't I supposed to? _ she thought but couldn't say, too overcome with feeling. Oh, it was too much. Her heart tried to burst out of her chest, her mind spun fouettés, and her body shook under the onslaught of magic. She doubled over and he caught her, keeping her upright. "What does it feel like?" he asked, his usually detached voice strangely eager, and shook her when she didn't reply. "Hermione, _what does it feel like?_"

She opened her eyes and cried out. Fiendfyre was all around them, controlled and at bay, but piping hot and roaring flames that reached the ceiling. The image of Vincent Crabbe falling into a vat of exploding flame flashed through her brain. "Put it out!" she screamed. "Put it _out!"_

"Hermione," he said, voice so calm in all the chaos, and her wild eyes snapped to his. "Tell me."

"I feel it," she whispered quickly. "I can't explain it, I just do."

He blinked.

It was so hot she'd started sweating and he extinguished the flame, but not the magic, and as the room dropped to chilling degrees to make up for the suffocating heat he murmured, "I wonder if…" His eyes glinted and a shiver shot down her spine. Then his magic engulfed them again. She gasped.

"This is what I meant," he told her as his magic vibrated and crackled and pulsed around them. "If you're magic is powerful enough it can literally ignite the air around you. It can be sensed by other powerful wizards and witches." He looked thoughtful, like he was trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle. "Dumbledore is the only other wizard who has been able to sense my magic."

Riddle watched her intently as she struggled to contend with the magic bubbling around her, squirming as it tried to trigger her own and start an even bigger fire. His mouth lifted in an ironic smirk, but the wonder didn't leave his eyes. "He didn't have the same reaction though."

"It's too much," Hermione gasped. "I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Riddle interrupted, pressing even closer to her. Making it even worse. Making it so much better. "Otherwise it wouldn't have affected you like this-"

"Fine," she snarled, trying to push him away but at the same time unable to stay upright. "What do you want me to do?"

"Summon your magic. Let it touch mine."

At this point, she thought summoning her magic might just kill her, but that glint in his eyes told her there was no chance in hell she'd get away with saying no to him. Anger sparked through her. Why was he such a _control freak, _damn it! Her magic surged up around her in a magnificent, angry wave - not nearly as powerful as his but building as her fury gained speed. "Good enough?" she spat through clenched teeth.

He smirked and his magic shoved hers, making her stumble an inferno of feeling overcame her body. Something inside her clicked, like a key twisting open a lock. "You can do better," he said.

"…what if I can't?" she said, faltering, and just like that her magic went out like a snuffed flame.

His mouth brushed her cheek, light as a winter breeze, and his fingers carded through her hair just as carefully. She stiffened, startled by his sudden touches. "I'll teach you how to," he whispered. "Your magic reacts to mine. I could make you powerful, Hermione." And as his magic wrapped around her it was not suffocating, but comforting and strong. Her eyes shut of their own accord and she couldn't help the sigh that slipped past her lips as he held her so close, his mouth brushing over her neck next.

Wait – what was she _doing? _

"It's late," Hermione said abruptly. "I…I should go to bed." She pulled back, meeting his surprised eyes with a tight smile. She'd refused him? _No one, _certainly not a girl, had ever pushed him away before. He was bewildered…and a little pissed.

Hermione drew her wand to summon her robes but Riddle stopped her, putting a hand on her wrist. "Watch," he instructed and, focusing his gaze on the pile of robes across the room, crooked a finger. Both sets of robes zoomed across the room and into his hands immediately. He turned to Hermione with an arrogant smirk, his magic still crackling in the air.

"Show off," she grumbled, unimpressed (at least on the outside), and took her robes from him.

"And nothing less," he replied.

"We'll, ah, meet tomorrow for research?" Hermione verified, unsure.

"Of course, to solve Hogwarts little mystery," he sighed and the intense way he stared at Hermione made her think they weren't talking about the same mystery anymore. It also made her blush a little. "Goodnight, Hermione."

She swallowed. "Goodnight…Tom."

* * *

**AN: Ooh, can anyone say _plot twist? _Thanks for reading and please review! Reviews are like author crack, seriously. **


	12. Not Now, Not Ever

**AN: Once again, you've all proved your utter awesomeness. *whips on homemade Tomione shirt and breaks into happy dance* Buuuuttt I wanted to point out a few things real quick. OK, big one: wandless magic, the magic Dumbledore taught Hermione, and what's going on between Tom and Hermione are completely separate. (EH?) I don't mean to be confusing, but the magic Hermione has been using to influence her way around the '40s is less of 'a power' and more like 'a method.' If I'm not making sense, it will be clarified in this chapter. Also, you won't see wandless or wish magic in this fic. **

_**mh21 **_**asked whether Hermione is stuck in the past or can return to the future. No, actually Hermione can't return to her time since the Time Turner doesn't go forward. :'( She'll have to wait for 1998. There is a catch, however… t****hat comes later. *muahaha! Me nerd***

**Thanks for the reviews! I ship your fabulousness.**

* * *

12 Grimmauld Place  
the summer prior to sixth year

"_But how can I do any of that, professor? I'm just a fifth-year."_

"_You will have the advantage of knowledge," Dumbledore said, peering at Hermione over his crescent-shaped spectacles for a moment, a rare look of hesitance on his aged features. "You will also have a rare kind of magic unseen by anyone from the '40s, not even myself…at the time. In fact, very few witches and wizards know of it now, for it is very difficult to learn."_

"_What is it?" Hermione asked, intrigued._

"_It is called the ancient magick by some and the nearest source of it is available to you is right here in this very castle." _

"_The Founder's magic," Hermione breathed. She'd only read about that type of magic in books and those were just silly fairytales. It was a magic that had been lost in time, that defied all laws and principles. It could be used to manifest food, manipulate, create – for virtually anything! However, it was extremely hard to master and only a few number of wizards and witches had been able to wield it in the Olde Days, including Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, and Helga Hufflepuff among others. How did Dumbledore know it?_

"_Yes, the Founder's magic," Dumbledore confirmed, smiling, for Hermione had caught on quickly. "Unfortunately, it is extremely temperamental and nearly impossible to wield even for the most able wizards and witches. The magic adapts to the wizard and you must be in complete control of your emotions in order to practice it."_

"_So if someone were to use it for a Dark curse…"_

"_The magic would become unstable," Dumbledore confirmed. "It cannot be used for impure purposes."_

"_Cannot or should not?" Hermione said curiously and Dumbledore fixed her with his sharp gaze. She shrunk underneath it. _

"_Dark magic is very dangerous, Miss Granger, and it is imperative that you do not ever use it," Dumbledore said sternly. "It has a…history…of changing wizards for the worse." _

"_I would never do that!" Hermione said, thinking of Grindelwald and Voldemort with disgust. She would never turn into those people. They were hateful murderers who would do anything to get what they want. She was nothing like that. She couldn't be._

"_I know you wouldn't, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said warmly. "Should I teach you to use the Founder's magic, however, you will need to exercise extreme patience. For example, the only food I can create is a gingersnap cookie." He shrugged at her surprised look, smiling crookedly. "I also learned a small number of other tricks Founder's magic enables you to be capable of, but they took decades to master. …You will have a few years at the most."_

_Hermione gulped. "B-but I couldn't possibly-" _

"_I believe you could, if you applied yourself to it as aptly as you apply yourself to your studies," Dumbledore interrupted, not unkindly. "You're a very intelligent witch, Miss Granger. I have faith in you." He sat back, clasping his hands over his long white beard, and smiled at her. "Of course, we are speaking theoretically. If you so wished it, you would not need to attempt this type of magic at all. I would never ask so much of you…"_

"_I want to do it."_

_He looked pleased. "I hoped you would say that, Miss Granger." He drew his out his wand. "Regrettably, this particular mode of magic is not approved by the Ministry and you will have to practice in utmost secrecy. The Fidelius Charm should do the trick…"_

* * *

the Slytherin girl dormitory  
November 15th 1943

Hermione woke up exhausted. Oddly, she had dreamed of her first meeting with Dumbledore, and it had reminded her of the momentous task she'd been given. She had met with Dumbledore often that year and when the headmaster was not showing Harry memories in the Pensieve he was teaching her to wield the Founder's magic. She had become a skilled liar in her sixth year, even if Riddle did not think her so, as she'd been forced to pretend to puzzle over Dumbledore's absences with Harry and Ron as though she did not use the Time Turner to go with him and meet powerful wizards people had seldom heard of, to push her magic beyond any boundaries she'd explored before. Still though, it wasn't enough, and the Founder's magic could not be used to do much more than plant a thought in someone's mind. Not for her at least.

Or at least not until now, for the Founder's magic had been more…agreeable lately.

Underneath Hermione's mattress, the Despicable Concoction potion was still waiting to be used, but she only had to wait one more day to complete step four. Tomorrow Dumbledore would secretly set off for Germany to defeat Grindelwald.

However, she still needed to correct step three and find a way to get rid of those essences. She had to find out what was wrong with her, why her magic – what was the word he used? – '_reacted' _to Riddle's. Something inside her, she was sure, had changed at some point in the past few weeks. Last night, Tom had amplified it.

Hermione was brushing out her hair, fully-dressed, when Meredith, Parkinson, Fabia, and Elphy strode by her. Elphy slowed down, waving the girls off when they asked her what she was doing, and startled Hermione by plunking down next to her. She was half-Japanese and half-Polish, and her long strawberry blonde hair was drawn back into a ponytail, showing off the knife-sharp angles in her long face. Hermione was distracted by her exotic looks for a moment as Elfy turned her yellow-green eyes on her. Was every popular girl in Slytherin pretty? she thought exasperatedly.

"Morning," Hermione said awkwardly.

"Morning," Elfy returned and surprised Hermione further by taking the hairbrush from her. "Here, let me help with that." She took Hermione's thick, voluminous hair in one hand and brushed it firmly with the other. Hermione had braced herself for serious scalp pain, but Elfy held her hair at a certain angle so that she didn't feel any sharp bristles yank at her head. She relaxed.

"Um…thanks," she mumbled.

"No problem," Elfy said easily. "You know, when you first came to Hogwarts I kind of hated you – well, all of us did – but I suppose I was just jealous of you and Tom. And your hair. I do like it and I feel terrible for talking Meredith into cornering you. Of course, once she got involved Fabia did too. Ha! Fabia is such a lapdog. They got carried away with it though. I swear Meredith almost sheared your hair off right then and there, but I can see how you beat her in that duel. I remember you jinxed her in - what, a split-second? Really impressive, even if you did come after me and Fab next."

"Sorry about that," Hermione chuckled, smiling despite herself. But why was she smiling? Elfy had just admitted to hating her and convincing some girls to try to beat her up in one go. There was a directness in her words that made Hermione immediately like Elfy, however. Plus, she was sure there was an underlying apology somewhere in there. "It's a good thing Regulus showed up, I guess."

Elfy smirked. "You know, he's pretty good in bed, if you're into that sort of thing," she said slyly.

_Did she really just say that?_ Minerva would be scandalized. Augusta would have been secretly impressed, but already headed straight for the nearest rumor mill by now. Hermione, however, just…laughed. "No thank you, I'm more of a 'solid relationship' girl."

"So you're a virgin?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, no-"

Elfy grinned. "Oh, excellent! You _are _tainted. Very nice."

"I'm not tainted!"

Elfy hummed in response and put down the brush, standing up. Hermione patted her head experimentally and was surprised to find Elfy had brushed it even better than she did. "Ready for breakfast?" she asked. "I'm on a diet, so I won't be eating anything until lunch since I cheated last night with those wretched Belgian chocolates." She sighed heavily as they descended the staircase to the common room. "Meredith's parents are always sending her treats and she's inclined to share them with us whenever she steps out of line, which unfortunately, that little brat does often." She met Hermione's eyes. "Meaning, I don't lose enough weight."

Hermione scoffed. Elfy was pencil-thin, her stomach nothing but a vertical angle. What was she talking about? Hermione never understood skinny girls who obsessed over their weight and pinched their arm pit skin with worried frowns on their faces. Hadn't they ever studied the human body? Didn't they know there were certain places fat was _supposed _to be?

"Ooh, wait!" Elfy said, spinning around to face her in the middle of the hall. She flicked the tip of her wand through the top two buttons of Hermione's shirt, revealing the slightest hint of cleavage, and winked at her. "Very snog-able," she approved, looking a sputtering Hermione over with a critical eye. "Ok, come on!"

Elfy took off in the direction of the Great Hall once again, Hermione tugging at her robes nervously beside her. They entered the hall and Hermione missed Augusta and Minerva wave at her from the Gryffindor section in her distraction. Elfy shot them dirty looks and hurried Hermione to their table.

"Abraxas, shut your mouth," Elfy said dryly when he grinned sleazily at Hermione. "You're salivating."

"Oh, shut it, Wictz." He turned his pale blue eyes on Hermione. "And how are you this fine morning, love?"

"Worse, now that I've seen you," Hermione replied and Dolohov broke into guffaws. She sat down beside Riddle, who looked amused, and Elfy hexed Abraxas so that he shot a foot down the bench. Before he could get up, Elphy quickly sat on Hermione's left.

Abraxas leered at Elphy from behind his mussed silvery bangs. "You cheat!" he accussed.

Elphy shrugged, a graceful lilt of her shoulders. "You could have seen it coming, but you're just an unobservant monkey, aren't you?"

They broke into a heated argument and Dolohov read the Daily Prophet across from them, sipping at his hot cocoa as an exhausted-looking Regulus frantically wrote the conclusion of his Divination essay beside him. Hermione, for once not at all uncomfortable in the midst of the Slytherins, ate her breakfast happily. She had a slight migraine, but otherwise felt quite pleasant.

Across the large array of twinkling candles Dippet stood from his seat at the staff table, rapping a fork against his goblet for attention. After five minutes or so of this and lots of shouting from Professor Benedict, who taught Hermione's Ancient Runes class, a harassed-looking Dippet announced an upcoming trip to Hogsmeade this weekend and reminded Slug Club members of the soiree on Friday before quickly sitting back down and burying his nose in a book on clocks.

"Oh Tom, you simply must join us in Hogsmeade this weekend," Elfy said suddenly, turning her green eyes on Riddle. "You never come!"

"I apologize, Elfaba," Riddle murmured, "but I _am_ Head Boy-"

"Yes, yes, duty calls," Elfy grumble, looking put out. "But you will come with us to Hogsmeade at least once before the school year ends, won't you?"

His smile was polite, although it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course."

Elfy looked satisfied and retreated. Hermione, on the other hand, watched Riddle carefully. She knew the real reason why he couldn't go on the weekend trip. He had no parents or guardians to sign a permission slip that guaranteed approval for him to leave the grounds and enter Hogsmeade, just as Harry hadn't in their third year…

He turned to her, a real smile tugging at his lips, and arched a brow at her intent stare. "Daydreaming about me again, darling?"

"Oh, you _would _think that," Hermione grumbled, turning back to her plate, and stabbed a forkful of bacon. She was smiling though. "When are you going to realize you aren't the center of the universe?"

"Who said I wasn't?"

"Me!" She looked at him incredulously. "You are incredibly self-centered, you know."

"No, I am simply self-aware of my dazzling effect on others," he said, smirking. "Such as you."

It wasn't even worth it to reply, so Hermione simply went back to eating her breakfast. Not a moment later she felt a tingle against her leg, and her fork and knife clattered to her plate as she jerked in surprise. Her head whipped around and she glared at Riddle sternly. "Don't do that!"

"Do what?" he said innocently. His magic probed her again and she gasped as her own eagerly, thoughtlessly, surged up to meet his.

"Be careful!" she hissed. "What if someone notices?"

"The only wizard in the room strong enough to register our magic is more than twenty feet away from us," Riddle said, rolling his eyes. "Why not have a bit of fun?"

"I didn't realize you knew what fun even meant," Hermione said, impressed.

He glared at her.

Recklessly, she threw a bolt of magic at him, watching in satisfaction as he flinched. A smirk quickly made its way on his face. "Couldn't resist, could you?"

"Oh hush," Hermione muttered from behind her napkin before getting her to feet. Riddle stood beside her, meeting Abraxas' eyes when the boy tried to get up and join them. Abraxas sat back down quickly and Meredith watched with narrowed eyes as Hermione and Tom left the hall. _She _saw how fake that girl was, why didn't anyone else?

Hermione and Riddle took the shortcut to Potions, and she didn't even realize she wasn't afraid of being so utterly alone with him as they travelled through the stony passage. Her headache came back, however, stronger and more distracting than before. She rubbed her forehead, irritated, and thought she saw a black paw flit around the corner ahead of them. _Cut it out, _she told herself. _You're just seeing things!_

Through Potions, the headache got worse.

When Herbology came round Hermione had seen that black cat dart in and out of the halls at least a dozen times and was feeling quite off-kilter as she took her seat beside Augusta, who greeted her merrily. "Congratulations on defeating the Wicked Witch of Bitchiness! You've done all the Gryffindors proud, Hermione."

"And the Slytherins," Regulus chimed in, settling in on Hermione's other side. He nodded politely at Augusta, who stared at him in a mixture of surprise and caution. "Meredith is a bitch, I fully acknowledge that," he added and her expression slowly gave way to a grin.

"Completely. Do you remember when she gave me a hair-dye potion in my second year, saying it was pumpkin juice? I couldn't get the purple out of my hair for six weeks!"

Regulus chuckled. "Ah yes, that was a good one." At Augusta's glare though, he backtracked. "Well, er, not on your end, of course…"

Hermione rubbed her aching temples and glared at the soil they were to plant fungi in this period, which was shaped like a dog. Or was she seeing things again? She huffed, exasperated, and shoveled more dirt in the pot. The dog disappeared.

"I barely finished it in time," Regulus was saying to Augusta, "but death omens, once you know what they are, start to show up everywhere. There's the banshee scream, a broken clock, an owl in the daytime, a howling dog, the sound of horse hooves, black cats-"He continued talking, but Hermione had stopped listening and was frozen midway planting the fungi. Black cats? Was she being paranoid, or did that sound annoyingly coincidental? Was she seeing…death omens?

_Ridiculous. Divination is the most uncertain field of magic and totally incorrect, _she immediately thought, but then Trelawney's prophecy came to mind. That had been true. What if this was too?

"I'll catch up with you later," Hermione said to Augusta when class was over, smiling at her reassuringly when her Gryffindor friend frowned in confusion. "I need to talk to Regulus."

Augusta looked skeptical, but nodded. "Sure," she said and left, glancing back a few times before vanishing around the bend of the corridor.

Hermione turned to Regulus, who had hung back like she'd asked him to. He regarded her curiously. "What do you need?"

"Will you meet me in the library during lunch?" Hermione asked.

Regulus looked uncomfortable. "Listen, I don't know what's going on between you and Tom, but I don't want to get in the middle of it-"

"No, it's nothing like that," Hermione interrupted, frustrated. Really, why was everyone in the '40s so convinced that every interaction between boy and girl was romantic? Ugh! "I need to do some research on Divination, death omens in particular, and I was hoping you could help me."

"Oh," Regulus said, surprised. "Uh, sure… I could help with that. I'm not as good as Riddle, but-"

"That's fine, I just need to find some good books and things," Hermione interrupted. She did _not _want to ask Riddle about this, that would involve explaining why she was researching death omens in the first place, and Regulus was not nearly as sharp to ask anything like that. "Meet me at the front desk at the beginning of lunch, ok?"

"Ok…"

Hermione left for Transfiguration before Regulus could change his mind. Arriving at the classroom, she spotted Riddle situated between Abraxas and Dolohov in the back, and Hayley Abott waved to her from their table. Hermione smiled at her and sat down, pulling out her Arithmancy homework. The class was still working on the _Morphus _spell, so other than occasionally giving Hayley a tip or two she was free to read and do her homework.

And plan step four.

Hermione watched Dumbledore as he moved throughout the classroom helping students. There was no tricking him obviously, he was too brilliant to be duped, so it was important her plan be very simple and not overly complex. That might make him suspicious. The Dumbledore of her time did tell her he never turned down a cup of hot cocoa though and she could easily slip Despicable Concoction into that…

She just had to wait until Friday.

When class ended Hermione slipped out before any of the Slytherins could catch up to her and headed to the library instead of lunch on quick feet. She entered the grand room, which smelled refreshingly of ink and paper, and her eyes almost immediately lighted on Regulus, who was reclined against the front desk and looked like he was debating on whether to bail or not. She marched over to him.

"Hi Regulus, thanks for coming," Hermione said kindly. "Do you want to get a table?"

"Er, sure, but I can't stay for long…" he mumbled uncertainly.

_He must be afraid Riddle will find out, _Hermione thought as she put her things down on a table in the back, adjacent to the domestics section. She pulled out a scroll and quill, just in case she needed to take notes.

"So what are we doing exactly?" Regulus asked. "You wanted to know about…death omens?"

"Yes, I just find them absolutely fascinating," Hermione said enthusiastically, fixing him with a disarming smile he couldn't help but return. "You know so much about Divination, so I figured you could help me learn a bit more about them." At this, he looked flattered. _Hook-_ "It will only take a little while, I promise. So do you think you could help me?"

"Well... sure, Hermione."

_-and sinker. _

Hermione smiled back triumphantly. "Excellent."

Halfway through the period when Hermione had a list filled with all sorts of death omens and Regulus was in full blabber mode, yammering on about signs of bad luck, she finally arrived at the question she'd been itching to ask since he'd first mentioned death omens in Herbology. "Regulus, do death omens _only _mean a death is about to occur?"

"…Well yes, that's the general idea." He paused. "But sometimes death omens have to do with other…things. Darker magic."

"Like what?"

He cast a brief glance about them and leaned toward her, speaking in a whisper, "_Necromancy."_

She blinked, shocked. "You mean-"

"Raising the dead, yes." He grinned. "Cool huh?"

"Er…yeah, cool." Hermione slowly wrote down 'necromancy'underneath 'broken mirrors' on her parchment. "Are you sure there aren't any other possibilities?"

"Besides an oncoming death? No."

"So if someone were to see a death omen, it would either mean a person was about to die or someone had recently been _risen," _Hermione said carefully.

Mme. Wiber strode by then and they had to bury their faces in some Cleaning Spell books until she passed. It wouldn't do if a professor caught them discussing such dark magic, and they'd probably find themselves in Dippet's office in a flash and on the Hogwarts Express just as quickly. Hermione let out a breath of relief when she was gone. "Well?" she pressed.

"Necromancy isn't as simple as that, exactly," Regulus said conspiratorially. "Necromancers used to be really popular in the Middle Ages when the Black Death was going around, but eventually faded out. There are very few left now and there extremely hard to find; my parents met one once living in a black magic tribe in Africa though. He seemed kind of nutters, constantly hallucinating and the like." He lowered his voice even further. "He can tell you the exact moment and way you'll die."

Hermione shivered. That _was _Dark magic.

"Well, I don't know much more to it than that," Regulus said, scratching his head and standing up. "Sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"No, you were really helpful," Hermione assured. "Thanks for coming."

He bid her goodbye and left the library, leaving her at the table surrounded by countless notes on death omens. _Necromancy_. Too bad she burned the last book on that subject, because she needed information on it now more than ever… Hermione gasped as it hit her. The essences! One of the book essences she'd released was necromancy based. What if that had something to do with it? What if the essences were spreading and that was why she had seen the black cat near the Quidditch Pitch? She had been sort of close to the Forbidden Forest – but no, that didn't explain why she had seen the death omens in school too.

Still, seeing that black cat didn't immediately mean necromancy was involved, it really could just be a death omen.

Hermione didn't remember any deaths at Hogwarts in the year 1943.

* * *

"Two more days until the soiree! I can hardly wait," Parkinson squealed, clapping her hands in excitement. "What are you going to wear Meredith?"

Meredith grinned surreptitiously. "I'll show you."

Elfy, Fabia, Parkinson, and Hermione watched as Meredith sashayed to the trunk at her bedside, unlocked it with a tap of her wand, and pulled out a knee-length evening dress. Elfy looked impressed, Parkinson jealous, and after checking the reactions of the other girls Fabia smiled enthusiastically. Hermione didn't understand what the big fuss was about (it was just a soiree) but tried to look interested.

"Oh, that shade of green is lovely against your skin," Fabia sighed. "And you're going to wear the necklace?"

"Of course," Meredith scoffed, putting down the pretty dress to extract the silver case containing Slytherin's priceless locket next. Hermione caught her breath when Meredith opened it, giving the girls a tantalizing glimpse of the emerald-diamond locket. Its facets winked in the moonlight streaming into the dorm like a thousand stars and Meredith snapped the case shut when Fabia reached forward to touch it. "Nice try, Fabia," she laughed, "but you'll have to pay a pretty Galleon if you want to put your grubby little hands on this."

Swiftly, she stowed the dress and precious locket in her trunk, muttering a lock charm and shoving the chest under her bed. She sat back up, throwing her long heavy hair over one shoulder. "Elfy, what are you going to wear?"

"Oh, it's still being designed by Chanel in Paris but _tata _is paying extra for it to be shipped in early-"

"Doesn't Chanel design for Muggles?" Meredith sneered.

Elfy's fair face went bleach-white and Hermione came to her rescue, retorting coolly, "Chanel is an excellent designer and makes dresses for wizards and Muggles alike. Where did you buy your dress, Gladrags Wizardwear?" Meredith stared at her, shocked, and Hermione herself almost couldn't believe she had said it - neither could the other girls, as they and half the dormitory gaped at her in shock.

Meredith quickly recovered, her dark eyes narrowing angrily. "Walton, an exclusive witch from Switzerland only available in the spring designed my dress, for your information," she sniffed. "Who designed _your _dress?"

"I…haven't got one yet," Hermione admitted, deflating.

Meredith smiled evilly and turned away, triumph written all over her face. "And what are you going to wear, love?" she asked Parkinson.

Hermione got to her feet and left the dormitory quietly. She'd had enough of Meredith for one day.

She headed to the Room of Requirement thirty minutes earlier than the time she and Riddle had agreed to meet at, but she couldn't wait any longer to start more research. On the seventh floor, she strode back and forth three times down the left corridor, thinking _I need information! _A door took shape in the wall beside her and she walked through it, sighing in relief when she entered a large cozy nook lined on all sides by towering shelves overflowing with books and tomes. Lamps lit the room in a warm glow and a very comfortable-looking armchair, two couches, and wheeled ladder for reaching the higher shelves were the existing décor.

Oh, she could live here.

Hermione set to work, climbing the ladder to the highest rung and checking every title on the top shelves first. She found one book that seemed possibly helpful, called 'A History Book on the History of Books' and levitated it to the couch below with a flick of her wand before getting back to work. When the door swung open behind her she'd only accumulated two more books. Glancing down, Hermione waved at Riddle who was gazing around the makeshift library thoughtfully. He spotted her and arched a brow.

"Why look, it's a brainy book troll," he said thoughtfully. "Is it hunting season already?"

"Ha ha," Hermione said drily, although she had to shout a little to be heard from fifteen feet off the ground. "As helpful as your discriminating comments are, you'd be of much more use if you started going through those books down there." She pointed at the small pile she'd gathered thus far when he didn't move.

On ground level, Riddle propped his elbow on a dusty shelf and stared up at her lazily, smirking. "Oh, but things are so much more interesting at this viewpoint than in a bunch of old books," he said loftily.

Hermione flushed as the meaning of his words dawned on her. _Is he really-?_ She looked down and surely enough, his black eyes staring shamelessly up her skirt. She locked her knees immediately, thanking every wizard she knew that stockings were part of the dress code. "_Tom,_" she hissed. "Stop that and go make yourself useful!"

He snickered at her red face. "Yes, ma'am."

She watched him make his way over to one of the couches and start to flip through a text full of essays on magical book printing. Sighing, she turned back to the shelves and started searching again.

Thirty minutes later, Riddle had finished reading the half-a-thousand page books – he read even faster than she did, Hermione noted jealously – but none of them were helpful. Defeated, Hermione descended the ladder, hopping off the last rung and brushing dust off her skirt. It was nearing midnight and they hadn't learned anything_. _She would have to wait until next time to find more books.

"I can't believe none of those books had _anything _on essences," Hermione said temperously. "What's wrong with those authors? How could they skip such an important subject?"

"Well, all the texts you chose are written by wizards that practice Light magic," Riddle observed, glancing at her slumped form in the armchair from where he was stretched across the couch, hands folded behind his head and ankles crossed in the perfect picture of relaxation. On the cover of _Vogue,_ of course. "Did it ever occur to you that essences are a dark mode?"

Hermione frowned. "How do you know that?"

He rolled his eyes. "You read 'Destruction of _Darke _Texts,' didn't you? It's glaringly obvious."

She huffed. Sure, when he said it like that he made her sound like a complete idiot. "Ok, Mr. Brainiac. Any other enlightening suggestions?"

He raised his brows at her biting tone, smirking. "Maybe tomorrow. I'll keep you posted."

After a minute or so, Hermione hesitantly broke the silence. "One of the books I destroyed was a book on…necromancy." She glanced at Riddle quickly to find him staring at her intently, all traces of humor gone and replaced by a look of intensity that made her pulse speed up. She swallowed and continued. "I wasn't sure what that would mean for the essences, but it's a field of Divination so I asked Regulus about it-"

"Regulus?" he interrupted sharply, sitting up. "Why did you ask him?"

Hermione blinked, bewildered by the abrupt change in his mood. Slowly, she said, "He takes Divination and I needed to learn about death omens-"

"I take Divination also, Hermione. Why didn't you come to me?"

"I…didn't think of it." He was starting to scare her and she swore that, just for a second, his eyes had flashed red. "What's the big deal?" she asked, boggled.

"_Our_ deal was that _I _would help you figure out what that stupid smoke is and get rid of it, not Black," he hissed so viciously she flinched. He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away. His magic crackled dangerously in the air and she stayed very still, not daring to move for fear it might…set him off.

"I don't want you to be alone with him again."

"But he didn't do anything wrong," Hermione said, confused. "He was just helping me!"

He whipped around to face her and the fury plain on his face was so concentrated and frightening she shrank back, blanching. "You should know better than to try and defy me, Hermione," he snarled. "Unless you want your little boyfriend to get hurt."

Anger went off in her like a lighted match and she jumped to her feet, glowering at him. "Would you grow up? He's not my fucking boyfriend, just because I hang out with him. I can talk to the opposite sex!"

Riddle was in front of her in an instant, gripping her tightly by both wrists, and she cringed. "Listen closely," he said in a deceptively soft voice. "I am going to speak with Black no matter what you say and even if you try to get _cozy_ with him again he'll know better than to-"

"Cozy?" Hermione interrupted furiously. "What the hell does that mean?"

He smirked at her. "Well, maybe those rumors about you weren't completely untruthful."

"Oh kiss my arse, Riddle," Hermion snarked, shoving him back. She grabbed her schoolbag and wand with shaking hands, marching toward the door angrily. "You're acting like a two-year old brat. I'm out of here."

She stormed out of the Room of Requirement, quivering with fury, and was stomping back to the Slytherin common room when she saw Gregovitch round a corner ahead, his gnarled fingers illuminated by the lamp he held in front of him. "Who's out of bed?" he called, bi-colored eyes snapping around him alertly. "Come on out! It's off to the headmaster's office with you!"

Blast! Hermione had forgotten to cast a Disillusionment Charm in her hurry to get away from Riddle, but the girl's bathroom was just a corridor down. She ran there and Gregovitch hobbled after her, shouting more threats as she escaped into the loo.

Looking around her, Hermione realized she had gone into the very bathroom Riddle had murdered Moaning Myrtle in. Moaning Myrtle hadn't come back to Hogwarts yet, however, so she was alone. She slipped into a stall and locked it, waiting until the sound of Gregovitch's clumsy footsteps – he had a limp from slipping on a puddle of spilled potions some decades ago – faded away. When she was sure he was gone, Hermione stepped out, checking the empty room around her.

It looked much the same as the one from her time, except newer and shinier - and it wasn't quite as smelly. Hermione stared at the serpentine-necked faucets, where Harry and Ron had gone down into the Chamber of Secrets. She shook the pictures of bulbous yellow eyes and a hand mirror away and strode up to the sink to rinse her face. A few frustrated tears had escaped her as she left the Room of Requirement and she wanted to erase all evidence of them. Riddle would not make her cry. He was just lashing out – for whatever reason – and trying to get to her.

She wouldn't let him.

"Are you alright?" A voice said from beside her and she jumped, shrieking.

Hermione spun around to find the Grey Lady staring back at her serenely, her waist-length hair shimmering in the filtered moonlight over her long cloak. She tilted her head in greeting. "I apologize for startling you. I am-"

"Helena Ravenclaw," Hermione finished, surprised.

"So you are as smart as they say," the ghost intoned thoughtfully.

"They?"

"Oh, just innocent talk among the no longer living," Helena said, waving her hand with a short, bitter "ha."

"I thought you only talked to Ravenclaws," Hermione said, confused as to why the ghost was here in the girl's bathroom with her of all places.

"Usually, for they are the most intelligent in this castle, but there are the occasional exceptions," Helena trailed, circling Hermione in a gentle, slow float. "Such as yourself and-"

"Tom Riddle."

"You are very perceptive," Helena observed. "What else do you know?"

Hermione shrugged. "Things."

"I was in the Ravenclaw common room when I sensed your magic," Helena said, gazing with whitish eyes as translucent as egg membrane out of the window at the night outside. "I was also curious, I admit, to see what the source was. You must be very angry."

"How…how do you know that?"

"Your emotions influence your magic. Anger happens to be a very powerful emotion, which is why your magic was so potent tonight." Helena turned her stony gaze on Hermione. "Very intriguing." She paused. "What has caused you to be so ill-tempered?"

Hermione scowled. "Nothing."

"Oh, a man, is it?" Helena said knowingly, her deep voice echoing around the vacant bathroom in varying waves. "They can never take a hint."

"No, it's not that," Hermione disagreed, thinking of how angry Riddle had been when she told him she met with Regulus. "I just…don't understand him. He's impossible. I don't _want _to understand him!" What more was there to know anyway? He had been a hateful orphan, become a brilliant but Dark wizard, and killed any person that got in his way. What was the point in trying to comprehend someone like that?

"Ah, there it is again," Helena said, peering at Hermione intently. "Your magic is so easily triggered."

Hermione huffed. She never had been very good at controlling her emotions.

"Well, I have to go. It's late," she muttered, straightening, and Helena Ravenclaw nodded, a graceful bob of her fluorescent head.

"Until next time," Helena murmured and faded through the wall behind her. Outside the window, Hermione saw her whisk alongside Gryffindor Tower and vanish through the brown bricks. She sighed. Now she was attracting ghosts _and _seeing death omens? She needed to find out what those essences were doing to the Forbidden Forest, what they had possibly done to _her, _and...fast.

* * *

Tom glared at the door Hermione had just gone through, hands balled into fists at his sides and magic whirl-winding around him. _He _was a brat? She was the one who insisted on countering every single thing he said, on defying him! No, he wasn't the brat in this situation. He was Tom Riddle, brilliant student destined for great things, the school hero. He was Lord Voldemort, bound to live forever, to be more, to have more, meant for more than greatness – for godliness.

She didn't get it and she wouldn't listen… He could make her though. He could break her with the right spell, a charming smile, a little kiss – but no, he had tried that already and she'd resisted his advances. She even had the audacity to push him _away_.

Tom didn't understand what was wrong with her. No one had ever reacted to him like that and the fact she did, that little know-it-all Mudblood, made his blood boil. She couldn't deny the connection between their magic – between _them_ – and he wouldn't let her. She wouldn't demean him anymore, he'd hurt her and make her regret ever leaving this room tonight. She'd beg him to come back.

What if she didn't?

Tom grabbed his hair, trying to physically shake such ridiculous thoughts out of his head, but they didn't stop coming. _She prefers Black to you. She thinks he's smarter, funnier, more talented, handsomer… _but he wasn't! For Tom was well-aware of his looks and if his grades weren't enough proof, teachers constantly doted on and showered him with approval and praise.

_Except Dumbledore, that old coot is never impressed. He sees me master the spells, he _knows _how powerful I am, but he won't give me so much as a fucking house point! _

Oh, how he detested that man. He would make him pay though. Oh yes, he would regret ever overlooking Tom Riddle, making him return to that wretched orphanage every summer, for persuading Dippet not to bend the rules so Tom could go on a weekend trip to Hogsmeade; for giving him that _look, _like he wasn't good enough, like he didn't deserve it all… for everything.

He just had to wait.

Sometimes though, Tom felt like he couldn't wait a second longer, like he might explode, and when that happened he had to hide. That was how he had found the Room of Hidden Things.

It was happening again, Tom realized with dread, with relish, with burning shame as his hands shook and vision blurred. He was losing control. Unbridled, his magic tore at the walls in hellish shrieks, slashing the ceiling into alabaster strips and shredding a shelf of books to paper ribbons. He struggled to rein it in and after a moment the magic did come back, like a hard punch to the chest that took your breath away. Panting, Tom stared in dismay at the ruined room Hermione had built around him. She would hate him when she found out what he had done-

A spasm of rage ripped through him and he grabbed the lamp beside him, tearing off the shade and snapping the whole thing in half over his knee before setting it on fire with a flick of his wand. _What do I care? _ It wasn't enough to abate him though –_ she's just a girl, not even significant in the long run_ – it was never enough.

Why couldn't he be enough?

And she had just walked out, left him here like he was nothing, like there wouldn't be consequences for her imprudence! _There will be, _he thought viciously. Black would pay tomorrow night and Tom would teach him - teach all of them their place in this world. Hermione would learn how important and powerful Tom truly was. He just had to wait until Friday, and after that? Christmas vacation. Hermione, as they'd agreed, would get him out of the castle for the holidays. _Ha! _Even if she hadn't agreed to his terms, Tom would have made her do it anyway. He always got his way.

Even if she was an insolent witch that set his teeth right on edge, Hermione would be of use in the end. She was more talented than all of his Death Eaters combined and multiplied by ten, and when she joined him he would be even more invincible... If only he could win her over faster. If only she didn't distract him from the real task at hand with that tremble in the right corner of her mouth she got when trying to suppress a laugh, or her surprising depth that kept getting deeper, entrenching him in its mysteriousness the closer he became to her.

The room was a bloody mess but repairing itself slowly, and even the books were weaving themselves together again, pages magically binding and coming together once more. Tom sat down in a pile of rubble, leaning back against a bookcase with a heavy shudder. His eyes, he knew, were glaring bright red as they always did during his…fits.

That was what Mrs. Cole called them, for the psychologist she had forced on him when he was young - long before Dumbledore had ever come along - told her this, that Tom suffered from tantrums: inconceivably terrible 'fits' of rage that would worsen as he got older and were quite possibly genetic. Dr. Bullock didn't know anything though. He just wanted more money, so the stupid Muggle drew a random diagnosis and made a strange little orphan even more pathetic than he already was.

Tom hated them too.

For the rest of the night and high into early morning hours Tom calculated and planned, not a hint of fatigue reaching him through his invincibility. No one could reach him there. Not now, not ever.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think. X)**


	13. So Cold

**AN: Faithful readers, how I adore thou. Thoust like a garden of roses in a chocolate river among a valley of gumdrops...or something. **

**X)**

**Like I said before, this fic is non-canon, so even the timing is weird. It takes place in 1943, but in 1943 in the original series Tom is a fifth-year. Here, he's a seventh-year **_**and **_**he hasn't made any Horcruxes yet, although he has murdered Myrtle and opened the Chamber of Secrets – there's a reason for all of this, I promise. So save yourself a headache and ignore the time, just go with the flow… Thank you for all the wonderful reviews!**

* * *

"Hurry up, Hermione! I want some scrambled eggs before Abraxas eats them all," Elfy growled, grabbing Hermione's bag and shoving it at her before hustling them into the common room.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Hermione grumbled, pulling her hair back into a haphazard ponytail and straightening her robes as they rushed down the empty corridors. "I thought you were dieting anyway?"

"I'm supposed to eat at least two sources of protein per day," Elfy said matter-of-factly, "and eggs count as one. A little asparagus on the side and I'll be good until lunch."

They arrived at the Great Hall and Hermione caught sight of her Gryffindor friends, smiling at them briefly before heading to the Slytherin table beside Elfy. She was in for an unpleasant surprise however, because when she arrived there Meredith was sitting next to Riddle.

In her seat.

Hermione, who had never been one for school drama, ignored Meredith's gloating smile as she sat a seat down from her usual place, squeezing in between Elfy and Abraxas, who pressed his leg firmly against hers. It was a tight squeeze and Abraxas bragged to her about his Seeker skills all through the meal when Elfy wasn't arguing with him, uncomfortably close and even leaning over to tug one of her curls once.

It was a long breakfast.

Hermione met Riddle's eyes halfway through the meal, her own questioning_, _but his black orbs were unreadable as he turned away from her to Meredith. "Meredith, would you like to attend the soiree on Friday with me?" he asked. The whole table paused in shock.

Meredith looked stunned, but a pleased smile quickly stole its way onto her face. "Of course, Tom. I would be delighted to." She shared an excited glance with Fabia and Parkinson, who each gave her a thumbs-up and giggled.

Regulus looked disturbed. He and Hermione frowned at each other, bewildered. He pointed from Riddle to Meredith to her: _do you know anything about this? _She shook her head: _not a clue. _He raised his brows: _how_ _strange…_

All through Potions Riddle ignored her, only speaking when he needed her to hand him something, and even then he didn't so much as glance at her. Hermione struggled to control the anger bubbling like a cauldron on high inside her. What was his problem? In lunch she strode in a minute before Meredith did, but Riddle looked past her and waved Meredith over. Meredith strutted ahead of Hermione, shooting her a fluttery wink as she walked by, and a red flush spread from Hermione's forehead to her fingertips. Immediately, she spun on her heel and walked out of the Great Hall.

Tom watched her go, a little smile playing on his handsome lips.

* * *

Hermione didn't understand it. Riddle had been perfectly fine last night up until that episode between them, but he didn't really care _that _much about her going to Regulus, did he? Then again, he had said he would hurt him. Regulus had seemed fine this morning though… Ugh! And what was with him and Meredith? Did he fancy her? He hadn't seemed to care about her at all before.

As always, nothing made sense.

Hermione entered DADA a few minutes early, having gone there straight from Ancient Runes without seeing Minerva or Augusta in the corridors on her way. Inside, the windows blasted brilliant light into the room and the chandelier sparkled prettily overhead. Professor Chanté was bent over some scrolls behind his desk, scribbling hastily.

"Hello pro…" She caught herself. "Lucas." As long as none of the other students were around to hear her greet Professor Chanté so informally, Hermione figured she might as well call him by his surname like he'd asked. "What are you doing?"

He glanced up at her and beamed, that dimple in his cheek creasing, but his smile was embarrassed. "If I tell you, do you promise to keep it a secret?" he said half-playfully, half-seriously.

"Um, sure," Hermione said, surprised and forgetting her earlier anger for an instant as he gestured for her to come over. She walked up to his desk, checking his expression before she leaned in to read his notes. "Oh wow," she said softly when she'd finished. "Did you write that?"

"_Oui,_ but it's imperitive you don't tell anyone," he said, tapping the quill behind his ear a little anxiously. "It's top secret. I can't have it going around that I write love poems, for Godric's sake."

She laughed. "No, it's…cool. Well, I think it is," she added at his dubious look, "You really are quite good."

"Maybe one day I'll publish them," Professor Chanté replied. His smile widened. "Thank you by the way."

She shrugged, embarrassed.

Students started to enter and Hermione made her way to her seat, where Minerva joined her soon after. She was playing with her quill, thinking how odd it was that Professor Chanté's poem was a mirror image of e.e. cummings' 'Nightingale.' Would he go on to adopt a penname and publish secretly in the future as a Muggle writer? she wondered. _No, e.e. cummings' was born in 1894 and Professor Chanté is at most thirty…_ Maybe he was giving the Muggle writer his work, kind of like the conspiracy that Shakespeare had a ghostwriter?

Suddenly, Minerva interrupted her thoughts and whispered in an outraged voice, "What the hell are _they _doing together?"

Hermione looked up and instantly regretted it. Walking in hand-in-hand, like the Hogwarts power couple, were Meredith and Riddle. _What the hell? _Hermione stared at their clasped hands, shocked, and…couldn't make any sense of it. What was Riddle _doing_?

"I thought Riddle fancied you," Minerva said, frowning in confusion. "Did you two have a fight or something?"

"We were never together," Hermione said tightly and Minerva raised her brows at her caustic tone. Hermione's eyes, however, were on Meredith, who smirked widely at her when she caught her gaze. Her quill snapped in her hand, splattering ink all over her robes, and she gasped in dismay. "Oh, just fucking great. Now I have to change!" she cursed, taking them off and earning a whistle from some nitwit Hufflepuff in the back.

"New wardrobe, hm?" Minerva observed, her brows rising further at the sight of Hermione's attire and disappearing behind her neat bangs.

Hermione glanced down at herself to see what she was talking about – and beside the ink splatter on the edge of her right cuff – she saw the two undone buttons Elfy had made her leave open again, insisting she looked better that way. Admittedly, she had been getting more glances in the hallways and they weren't death glares either. Hermione shrugged at Minerva's sniffy tone. "Elfy wears her shirt this way. What's the big deal?"

Minerva muttered something under her breath Hermione didn't quite catch.

Professor Chanté strode forward. "Settle down, settle down, younglings!" he shouted, shooting a few dozen red sparks from the tip of his wand that ratcheted off the ceiling, and the class quieted. "Now, can anyone tell me what harpies are?" he asked.

Hermione answered, of course, and ten minutes later everyone was working in pairs and drawing diagrams of the half-bird half-woman beasts. Hermione was an awful artist, but Minerva was alright so she took over. Her friend, however, was soon overpowered by her bursting bladder and excused herself, scrambling from the room to the nearest bathroom. Hermione bent over their half-complete diagram, sketching in what looked like a baseball bat.

"Oh gracious," Professor Chanté said, appearing beside her, and she looked up. "Is that supposed to be a wing or a beak?"

"It's a claw," Hermione informed him tartly.

"Ah." He squinted at her picture. "Here, let me see." He held out his hand and she reluctantly handed over her quill. Standing back, she watched as he drew a rather realistic claw over her crude one. "There you go," he said, straightening, and passed back her quill, squeezing her fingers briefly when she took it from him.

He turned away to help the next pair of students and Hermione frowned at his retreating back, flexing her hand. _That was odd._

"Wow, that's really good!" Minerva exclaimed when she got back, peering at the talon Professor Chanté had sketched closely. "I thought you said you couldn't draw?" she said skeptically.

"I can't, Professor Chanté drew it," Hermione admitted. "Mine was Troll-worthy."

"How much time do we have left?"

"A few minutes," Hermione said, checking her watch, "so we better hurry."

Quickly, they finished their sketch and handed it in just as class ended. Meredith, Dolohov, and Parkinson left together, and Hermione saw her chance as she spotted Riddle leisurely leaving the classroom. _Oh, you're not getting away that easily, _she thought.

She said a hasty goodbye to Minerva, making up some excuse about meeting a professor after class, and slipped into the line of students streaming outside. Once in the hall, she spotted Riddle take a right turn down an empty corridor and hurried after him, reaching forward impulsively and catching his wrist when she was close enough – instantaneously, a bolt of energy zapped between them, electric as a livewire and just as startling. She snatched her hand back and he whipped around. For just a second, Hermione thought he looked surprised too, but staring into his impassive black gaze now she was sure she had imagined it.

"Yes?" he said coldly when she didn't say anything.

Hermione took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Are – um – are you still upset over last night?"

"Last night?"

"You know, the…disagreement over Regulus."

"Ah, that... I don't believe there was any disagreement, Hermione. My intentions were quite clear. We made a deal to research-" His eyes met hers sharply. "-_together_ and you went to Regulus-"

"But it's not like I told him anything, I just asked him about some stupid death omens," Hermione argued.

"Do you think he's smarter than I am?" he asked suddenly and she was so startled by this she simply stared at him, unblinking, for a moment. Irritation glanced across his handsome face and he stepped closer, upper lip curling. "Well? Is that why you went to him, because you think I'm incompetent?"

Hermione was bewildered. What was he talking about? Him, _incompetent_? Riddle knew just how incredibly brilliant he was, so what was he asking her for? "Tom, that's ridiculous," she snapped. "Of course I don't think that."

The look on his face, which had been bordering on fury, eclipsed at this. He blinked and it was like something had given way, like the monster peeking out from under the bed had gone into hiding again. He looked away. "What makes you think I'm still upset?"

_Oh, just the teensy fact that you've been avoiding me _all_ day, _Hermione thought acidly.

"Well, you've been acting strangely today," Hermione hedged, watching him closely for some sort of reaction. She saw none. "Never mind, I…I guess I was imagining things." He didn't reply and she shifted uncomfortably. "Are we still meeting tonight? For…lessons?" she said to break the awkward silence.

"I can't," Riddle said, his face still blank, and Hermione frowned. He wasn't even pretending to be apologetic! What had happened to him? One second he had been angry and talking to her, and now he was…robotic. "I'm afraid I am previously occupied."

"With Meredith?"

For the first time all day, an emotion other than anger or abrasiveness _did_ register on his features, but Hermione almost preferred 'the cold mask' to his smug expression now. "Perhaps," he replied vaguely and tilted his head. "Why so interested?"

"I'm not," Hermione said, maybe a bit too quickly, for a grin speedily joined Riddle's gloating look too. She glared at him. "Look, don't read into it, because you'll just falsely inflate your already oversized ego and then you'll pop. OK?"

"I'll pop?"

"Like a balloon." She paused. "Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing that, so if you must overanalyze things do go right ahead."

"If you are so intrigued by my social life, Hermione, just say so," Riddle chuckled and startled her by trailing the back of his hand over her cheek. Oh, so now he was being nice again? "For the record though, no, I'm not seeing Meredith tonight. I have Head Boy duties."

Hermione flushed. That was it? "Oh, er, sorry for…accusing you," she mumbled. _Gah, how embarrassing, I'm apologizing to Lord Voldemort of all people. _Not for the first time, she wondered how her life had come to this.

He rolled his eyes. "I forgive you," he said drily and, despite herself, she grinned at him, some part of her feeling oddly relieved by his admission. "Besides, I enjoy seeing you jealous."

Hermione gaped at him. He thought she was-? Of _Meredith_? Oh no, no way in hell! However, before she could tell Riddle this he spoke again, changing the subject. "Are you hungry?"

"A little-"

"Good, we'll go to dinner."

She bristled a little at the command. "Are you going to avoid me again?"

"Hermione… I did ask Meredith to Slughorn's soiree, I'm not going to just ignore her." And to cap off the statement, he cast her an incredulous look that seemed to say: how could you be so inconsiderate, Hermione?

What bullshit.

"Right," Hermione said tightly, looking anywhere but at him, although she wanted to bang her head into a wall. It did not make _any_ sense. He was Voldemort and by definition the epitome of evil, expert in misdeeds, manipulation and all things cunning; he did not take girls to parties because he simply 'liked them'! No, something else was at play here, and she wasn't stupid enough to fall for it. To fall for him.

Across the hall Hermione caught sight of Augusta and Minerva heading her way and met Augusta's eyes with wide, pleadings ones: the universal girl code for help.

Luckily, Augusta understood and jabbed Minerva in the ribs, bringing the other Gryffindor to a grinding halt. She pointed at Hermione, saying something, and a minute later both girls skipped over to Hermione with large, enthusiastic smiles on their faces (well, Minerva's grin looked more painful than genuine but the effort was there nonetheless).

"Hermione, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Augusta exclaimed, widened her eyes in dramatic surprise. "I need to talk to you about – uh – you-know-who."

Hermione _almost_ couldn't take the irony of that statement.

"Oh, that's right! I'll be there in a second," Hermione said, as if just now remembering she had an engagement, and turned to Riddle, who was smiling charmingly but looked slightly annoyed. "I'm really sorry but I have to go, Tom. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course, Hermione," he said smoothly and cast a final glance about the three girls until resting his black eyes on Hermione meaningfully. "Good evening, ladies."

Hermione's friends watched him go; Minerva with slanted eyes, while Augusta had an embarrassingly puppy-like expression on her face. When he was gone she turned to Hermione, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot expectantly. "Well, what was that about?" she demanded.

"What was what about?" Hermione said innocently.

Augusta pointed her finger at her threateningly and opened her mouth to reply, but shut it on second thought. "I… never mind." She shook her head with a sigh. "I heard about him and Meredith. How are you-" She paused, searching for the right word. "-coping?"

Hermione blinked, shocked for a split-second before anger came through. _Her friends, too? _Why did everyone think she should care whether or not he was seeing someone, least of all Meredith? _I mean, even if she is a jerk, I don't care. _

But didn't she?

Forget that last part.

"I'm fine," Hermione sighed and at their disbelieving looks added, "Really! Just because I don't like Meredith doesn't mean Riddle has to, too."

"But she's a bitch!" Augusta exploded. "I don't understand what he sees her in at all."

"Maybe he's just bored," Minerva suggested.

"And looking for a quick shag," Augusta said savagely. Realizing what she'd said, she looked at Hermione quickly, deep apology seared into her round face. "I'm so sorry, Hermione, that was stupid to say. I wasn't thinking! I bet they aren't even kissing or-"

"Meredith is a big slut. She stole Augusta's boyfriend, Oliver Bagshot, in our fifth year," Minerva interjected.

Augusta's face contorted with an old anger at that. Red-faced, she seethed, "He dumped me on Valentine's Day right outside Madam Puddifoot's and not an hour later I heard he was getting head from Meredith behind the Quidditch Pitch!"

"Oh yes, she's downright vile," Minerva added, seeing Hermione's shocked expression. "Meredith told Parkinson to spread the news around herself. She wanted to be sure it got back to Augusta that she'd been fooling around with her ex-boyfriend."

"I wouldn't mind seeing her fall off her pedestal," Augusta muttered, eyes dark with unforgotten grudges. "That rich girl wouldn't deserve one ounce of pity, considering all the cruel things she's gotten away with."

"Karma will come for her," Minerva said sagely. "She always does."

* * *

Hermione was walking back to the Slytherin common room when she felt a chill go through her, similar to having a bucket of ice cubes poured down your back, and she gasped, turning around to see –

Helena Ravenclaw.

"Hello again, young Slytherin," Helena greeted, regarding Hermione with cool, gauze-white eyes. "How are you this evening?"

"I've been better," Hermione replied, resuming her walk to the common room. The ghost fell into step beside her – well, not _step_, for ghosts did not walk, they floated – and her long hair swayed behind her in a rippling, silvery banner as she swept down the hall. "What brings you here?"

"You, Miss Granger. I must admit I am still intrigued by you even after our meeting yesterday." She looked at her. "I wonder why the Sorting Hat did not place you in Ravenclaw, you are very bright."

"Thank you," Hermione said automatically, but inside she was bewildered. As far as she knew, the Grey Lady was known to never speak to anyone except Ravenclaws and even then it was only to give students brief directions to class. What was she interested in her for? "Is there anything I can do for you?" Hermione tacked on uncertainly, to be polite.

Helena sighed heavily and she shivered as the ghost's exhale sent goosebumps and a little blizzard of ice dancing across her skin. "No, I am afraid there is nothing anyone can do for me now. Mine is a miserable existence and it is seldom I find myself interested in anything, having been around for the past millennium." She paused. "You, however, entice my curiosity – at least, for now – and we wonder about your extraordinary magic."

"We?"

"No one of importance, now that we are dead," Helena murmured, waving a long hand absently, and the gesture sent the long sleeves of her chiffon gown fluttering about like delicate, wispy wings. "How is that man of yours?" she wondered aloud.

"He's not _mine," _Hermione growled. Good Godric, even the ghosts thought they were together! "And I still don't understand him," she added, annoyed.

"I thought you said you 'didn't want to understand.'"

"Exactly, I don't," Hermione confirmed. "It's just that I have to put up with him one way or another, and he's so frustrating…"

"I've heard many – students and teachers alike – describe Tom Riddle, but none of them have used the adjective 'frustrating' when referring to the boy," Helena said, and if she possessed any other emotion than her general haughtiness Hermione thought she would've been amused.

"That's because they don't know him, not really," Hermione said darkly. She knew Tom Riddle for what he was, but she was bound not to warn anyone else away from him. Bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time, as Dumbledore once said.

Helena looked thoughtful. "Then perhaps you know him better than you think."

Hermione froze. No, she didn't…she didn't understand him at all! She was just the only one here who saw through his well-crafted, silky lies.

"The plot in you thickens, Miss Granger," Helena said, pleased, and dropped her chin in a small nod. "I bid you adieu, at least until next time."

She whisked around and swooped through a pair of first years coming this way, who squealed and dropped their books when they were startled by the freezing sensation of a ghost passing through them, and a moment later she vanished through the brownstone. Hermione, realizing she was standing right outside of the Slytherin common room, uttered the password and stepped through the entrance inside.

The common room was crowded as usual but several faces were missing, she found on arriving. Hermione double-checked and frowned. Most of the seventh-year boys were gone. Elfy, Parkinson, Fabia, and Meredith were occupying their usual corner of the common room, but Abraxas, Crabbe, Goyle, Dolohov, and Regulus were absent among others. Before she could dwindle on this further, however, Elfy waved at her from the couch, shouting, "Hermione! Come sit with us!"

She walked over and sat down next to Elfy, who shot her a smile and crossed her legs Indian-style, getting comfortable. "It's nice not to have the boys around, isn't it?" she said pleasantly. "We can finally get a break from having to constantly look good."

"Speak for yourself, Elfy," Meredith laughed, throwing her gleaming black hair into a messy bun, and as she did her shirt rode up, flashing a tantalizing glimpse of her slender midriff to a group of nearby fifth-year boys who kept shooting glances at the seventh-years. "I have Tom now. I _always _have to look good."

Fabia passed Hermione their latest delicacy: snowskin moon cakes sent to Meredith from Beijing. They were lovely little things covered in intricate, flowery designs and deep magenta on the outside, but the color of green tea on the fluffy inside. Hermione ate hers slowly, the rich taste of lotus paste and melon combined with Meredith's sugary smile as she recounted every waking detail of Riddle walking her to class almost too much for her.

"Hermione, you know Tom better than any of us," Meredith said, sucking a drop of icing off her finger with a soft 'pop.' "What dress would he like better? The green or purple one?"

_Green. _It was the color of Slytherin and he was the heir after all. Plus, he had an 'affiliation' with snakes-

"He won't care either way, Mer. What matters is _underneath_ all that pretty wrapping," Fabia interrupted with a fiendish grin, plucking her bra straps for emphasis.

"Oh Fab, it's not anything he hasn't already seen before," Meredith said slyly, eyes on Hermione, who stared determinedly at her moon cake wrapper – which was now fisted in a death grip. "What color boxers does he wear, Hermione? I seem to have forgotten."

Hermione's head whipped up and – Merlin help her – that was the last straw. The others saw her expression and inched back, knowing what was about to come. "What – is – your – _problem?_" she hissed, jumping to her feet. "What is it about me that ticks you off so much?"

"Well, first of all, you're a no-good Mudblood who doesn't deserve to be in our house, much less breathe the same air we do," Meredith sneered, looking up from the sapphire bracelet she had been examining. Her eyes sliced into Hermione's like cut diamonds. "Secondly, you're a know-it-all. Third, you're a lying whore – however, I am the only one able to see it for whatever reason – and finally, I just don't like you."

Elfy looked furious. Fabia and Parkinson were staring on in mixtures of shock and glee. Uncontrolled, dangerous magic shuddered all around Hermione like the tremors leading up to an earthquake, unseen to the wizards and witches around her but no less deadly.

Meredith smiled, an oh-so sweet twinge of her glossed lips. "Shall I go on?" she purred.

"Shut your mouth, Meredith," Elfy snarled, wand out and ready. "I'll hex you into the next dimension if one more foul lie leaves your mouth."

"Me?" Meredith looked flabbergasted. "What's wrong with you? Can't you _see? _You're defending dirt! Wizard trash! Your parents raised you better than that, Elfy-"

"Oh, save the bullshit for someone who will listen," Elfy scoffed. "Like you know anything about manners or family – your parents are divorced!" She spun around to face the other girls, pointing a shaking finger at Meredith's suddenly pale face. "How do you think she gets all those gifts? Mr. and Mrs. Smith don't travel _that_ often on business trips for the Prime Minister. They're in different countries for Salazar's sake-"

"Elfy, stop it!" Meredith hissed.

"Why should I? We're your 'friends,' aren't we?" Elphy laughed coldly. "Friends know each other's _deepest_ secrets."

Meredith's eyes widened and she jumped to her feet, face contorted in an ugly snarl. "Don't you dare, Elfaba Wictz-"

"She's staying here for Christmas, like some charity case, and if she doesn't get her act together she'll be disowned completely," Elfy told the others. "She won't have a Knut to her name. No inheritance, no fortune, nothing. They're going to take her off the family tree if she gets pregnant again-"

SLAP.

Elfy stared at Meredith, a big red handprint on her pretty cheek, and the common room suddenly went quiet. Fabia gasped.

Chest heaving, Meredith spoke in a voice so chilling she could have frozen hell over with one breath. "I hate you, Elfaba."

She spun on her heel, stomping up to the girl's dormitory and slamming the door behind her with a resonating bang. Everyone flinched. Elfy, tears pooling in her sea-green eyes, slowly sank down next to Hermione on the couch. Conversation burst around them all at once.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry-"

"Don't be," Elfy interrupted, quietly. "I've wanted to do that for years." She brushed away the tears trickling down her face in a definite swipe and flinched when she touched her tender cheek.

"Here, let me," Hermione said, pulling out her wand and pointing it at the forming bruise. "_Episkey," _ she cast and the mark quickly lightened, fading until it matched her skin tone again.

"Thanks," Elfy mumbled.

When the girl laid her head on her shoulder Hermione was startled. She'd never had many girlfriends, too busy with Harry and Ron to make any lasting friendships, and her boys had never been what she would call 'forthcoming' with their emotions. Sitting here with Elfy – even if she was sulky – was alright though, even nice. She'd always thought she was bad at girl friendships, but maybe she just never had a proper chance to give it a real go.

"For everything," Elfy added, cracking a little smile that quibbled on the edges. "Hogwarts was never this interesting before you came along."

Hermione snorted quietly at the ironic truth of her words. _You're telling me._

"She wasn't all bad in the beginning, you know," Elphy said, staring down at her folded hands, which now glistened with fallen tears. "Before she started to like boys and hate everyone she was really fun actually… I loved her a lot." She took a deep breath. "But now everything's changed."

"Change can be good," Hermione said gently.

Elphy avoided her eyes and stared at the door Meredith had just left through. She frowned. "Maybe."

* * *

"This Saturday there will be a trip to Hogsmeade, as I am sure you all already know," Tom began, dark eyes flicking around the band of Death Eaters encircling him to be sure everyone was listening.

He leaned back against a desk behind him, crossing his arms. "Since I am unable to attend due to other duties I will require you all to keep a close eye on Hermione Granger." He met Abraxas' eyes sharply. "Be discreet. Don't trail after her like lost puppies or alert her to your presence in any way, she's...smarter than you think." And a Hermione Granger that trusted him even less than she did now was the last thing Tom needed. He wouldn't have his Death Eaters fucking up the progress he'd made with her so far and if things continued at the rate they were presently undergoing now, he would have a very powerful and useful ally by the end of the school year.

_Or enemy, _a paranoid voice whispered, and Tom grew irritated. Ridiculous. He would conquer her regardless. Her reaction to Meredith today had been enough proof of that - not that his new affiliation with the girl had anything to do with Hermione at all, it was actually more of a pleasant side note to the bigger picture – and Tom knew of all things jealousy was one of the key emotions to controlling a person.

"Yes, my Lord," his Death Eaters said in unison, interrupting his thoughts.

Tom searched the sea of faces around him for any signs of doubt, disloyalty, or unease. The boys stiffened as he did so, knowing what was to come when he selected his victim. It was a lesson they all learned time and time again: _never_ disobey Voldemort, it will only bring you pain.

Becoming a victim was both a blessing and a curse, to be acknowledged by their Lord and singled out was a rare sign of praise. The pain they suffered showed their willingness, their devotion to follow him wherever he went – the pain, however, was the downside.

Voldemort smiled and they knew he had chosen someone. Abraxas, who had been picked the last two times, squeezed his eyes shut and prayed it was someone else.

"Regulus?"

A dozen pair of eyes swiveled up to watch Regulus Black gulp, lower the hood of his cloak, and step forward into the middle of the ring. Voldemort drew his wand and they all prepared themselves for what was sure to come, cringing as Voldemort raised his wand.

The screams began.

* * *

**AN: Those are some Head Boy duties you've got there, Riddle... *tut tut* He's always up to something, isn't he? Side note: I just saw Les Misérable and it was amazing! *end side note* Thanks for reading and please review! The next chapter takes place at the much anticipated (at least by the Slytherin gals) Sluggy soiree. Meredith is going to be simply stunning. I'm so excited to see her and Tom realize their undying love for each other. **

**Ew. Mental images. **


	14. Paris Amourtentia

**AN: Hello, my awesometastic-slash-divalicious readers! Remember what I said in the last chapter about wierd timelines? You do? Good. *hands out Tomione badges and lemons* Just kiddin' about the lemons..._those_ come later. Muahaha! (I heart smut.) *ahem* Thanks for the reviews! My happy dances have become nightly now. **

* * *

The Great Hall was filled to the brim when Hermione and Elphy arrived fifteen minutes late. A second helping of platters steamed on every available surface, candles twinkled overhead, and hungry adoscelents crammed the benches in house color-themed cliques. Meredith Smith, despite last night's blow-out, still sat beside Riddle looking for all the world like a regal queen on her throne, Hermione noted as she approached the emerald strip of Slytherin. Meredith ignored her and Elphy as they sat down beside Abraxas and Dolohov, turning her back on their side of the table completely in favor of coddling Riddle. Elphy's lip quivered a little.

"Where's Regulus?" Hermione asked, noting his absence as she glanced over the sleepy Slytherins.

"Hm wha'?" Abraxas noisily swallowed a mouthful of pancakes, clearing his throat. "Excuse me. Regulus is indisposed at the moment."

_Indisposed? _She frowned. "Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine," Dolohov interrupted suddenly, voice cold, and his already severe face looked even sharper as he narrowed his eyes at Hermione, who stared back at him in mild surprise. What was he so worked up about? Dolohov looked away after a second, mumbling, "Black just needs some rest is all. He's got a…fever."

The four of them fell into awkward silence. Elfy hadn't said much all morning and wouldn't talk now, for she was currently tracing a 'M' into her oatmeal with a frown on her china doll face. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Meredith shoot her ex-best-friend several glances throughout the period.

Somehow, Hermione didn't think Meredith really hated her.

In Potions Slughorn reminded the class of his soiree tonight and the female Slug Club members fell into excited chitters, at which he grinned indulgently. "Please ladies, calm down! There will be plenty of time for fun tonight and I look forward to seeing you all dressed up for our happy get-together," he added, winking, "That statement extends to the gentlemen also, Tom."

The class laughed and Riddle nodded, a perfected smile sliding onto his comely features with ease. "Of course, professor."

Slughorn commenced with the lesson and as he lectured them Hermione let her thoughts drift from cauldron handling and potion ingredients to the upcoming night. However, unlike the other girls she did not think of dresses or dates, but of the Despicable Concoction. The time had _finally_ come to put it to use. Tomorrow Dumbledore would leave for Germany and make wizarding history, except his time things would be going a bit differently...

Hermione resisted the compulsion to take out the Despicable Concoction now – just to check on it, she told herself – for she only had to wait a little longer until step four would be complete. _Hopefully, they'll be no repeats of last time's disaster, _she thought.

"Looking forward to the party tonight?" Riddle murmured and she looked up, surprised, but his dark eyes were on Slughorn's enchanted chalk, which scrawled instructions across the blackboard at a rapid pace.

"You could say that," Hermione replied evasively, wetting the end of her quill in ink before she updated her notes. "And you?"

"I am anticipative," he said evenly and the meaning underlining his words made her feel as if she were missing out on a joke. One of his long fingers curled out and traced a crack in the desk. Hermione found herself watching it. "Meredith will look lovely, I'm sure."

That snapped her out of her trance. Looking away, she forced a smile and said, "Yes, you two make a…nice couple."

Courteously, Riddle said, "Thank you."

Hermione didn't reply.

* * *

Transfiguration passed at a painfully slow pace and instead of the usual vigor Hermione felt during Dumbledore's lessons she felt only anxious, eager for class to end and the room to empty out. Halfway through the period she excused herself and left for the bathroom, going to the very one that led to the Chamber of Secrets and was fortunately abandoned ever since Myrtle was murdered.

Hermione felt a strange sense of déja-vu as she knelt down on the gleaming tile floor and pulled out her potion, a vat of room temperature hot chocolate she'd nicked from the kitchens, and a mug from her beaded bag. _It's like second-year all over again, just with different ingredients, _she thought, grinning ironically.

She cast a Heating Charm on the hot cocoa and poured the steaming liquid into the cup, adding a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg. The Dumbledore of her time had told her he would never be able to resist a good hot chocolate with cinnamon and nutmeg, especially from a friendly student. Next, Hermione uncorked the Despicable Concoction potion and held it below her mouth, whispering, "_Grindelwald." _

The potion hissed menacingly as she poured it into Dumbledore's drink. Hermione muttered another spell, one that would dispel the heavy scent, and the smell of chocolate filled the bathroom.

_So far so good._

Hermione carefully put the cups back in her bag after casting an anti-tipping spell to keep them from spilling and got to her feet, hurrying out of the bathroom. She returned seconds before the bell rang and as students entered the hall she hung back. Pretending to have misplaced something in her bag, she watched as Riddle strolled through the door backed by Abraxas and Dolohov, and waited until the last seventh-year – Henry Clervin – left. The door swung shut behind him and she took a deep breath, looking up to see Dumbledore facing the blackboard and muttering to himself as he stroked his short auburn beard. She approached him cautiously, toasty mug of fresh hot cocoa in-hand and while waiting for him to realize her presence a scent much more tantalizing than hot chocolate hit her nostrils, sneaking through the charm she'd cast and startling her. What _was _that?

The steam, Hermione suddenly realized, was rising in spirals instead of a cloud as was characteristic of Despicable Concoction. The scent she was breathing in was cedar and earthly and…she smelled new parchment too. _No, that can't be right, _she thought, frowning. _The last time I smelled a potion like this it wasn't Despicable Concoction, it was- _Her heart thudded sharply and she almost dropped the cup as it dawned on her.

It was Amortentia.

_Oh. Fuck._

Dumbledore turned around at the sound of her approach – and the smell of cinammon hot cocoa - and his eyes widened in delighted surprise. "Why, Miss Granger, what's this?" he asked and the warm smile on his face faltered at her wide, horrified gaze. "Ah, are you alright?"

"I…I'm sorry, I just remembered I forgot something very important," Hermione said faintly, backing away toward the door with a stunned look on her face. "Have a good weekend, professor." She stumbled out.

Dumbledore met Fawkes' beady black eyes, bemused. "I wonder what that was about?"

Fawkes chirped.

Outside, Hermione was panicking. How could this happen? She had been there, she had made the potion herself and seen it turn deep red with her own eyes! She _made _the Despicable Concoction. This, however, was most definitely not it! A memory rose up in her confused mind, of Slughorn saying how easy it was to turn Despicable Concoction into Amortentia or confuse the two, for love and hate were both very powerful emotions… but she hadn't confused them and neither had Riddle-

_Wait._

Tom Riddle.

That...that fucking bastard!

He'd done it! He had changed the potion when she wasn't looking, she just knew it. Furious, Hermione threw the cup of hot cocoa down on the floor and it shattered into a thousand ceramic fragments around her. She ignored the portraits' appalled gasps, storming to the Great Hall. Oh, she was going to wring his neck!

_Wait._

She couldn't do that. No, because if she confronted him he would want to know how she found out he changed the potion and that would raise certain questions she could not under any circumstances answer. Still, she was pissed. She needed that Despicable Concoction today, for Dumbledore was leaving tomorrow – no, not even tomorrow. Tonight! – and she had to get it to him. Yes, she would prepare it somewhere in private and within a few hours it would be ready, which would leave her just enough time to get to Dumbledore's office and give it to him...

Dumbledore had to drink the potion, because if he didn't go to Germany hating Grindelwald with every fiber in his being he would only defeat him again, and that was not part of the task. No, Dumbledore had specifically instructed her that while his past-self had been too wrought with guilt and fondness for Grindelwald, the Dark wizard must be killed for good. Dumbledore had to kill him, because if he didn't Voldemort would eventually meet Grindelwald and ask about the Deathly Hallows, obtain the Elder Wand which as Dumbledore correctly predicted had been the Light side's downfall.

She had to make that potion.

But _why_ did Riddle change the potion? What would Amortentia do for him? He had no use for love. He was incapable of it and he would never entertain any silly girl's fantasies of him, Meredith being the one rare exception. Hermione froze as it dawned on her. _Duh._ Meredith Smith! It all made sense now. This explained why he had suddenly taken such an interest in the girl and why he was taking her to Slughorn's soiree tonight. He must have taken some of the Amortentia too and was planning to use it on her to do Merlin knows what. That was the question though: what did he want? If Riddle really wanted to get Meredith alone he wouldn't have to poison her, he could treat her like trash and she would still have come running.

One thing was certain, however: Meredith was in serious danger and Hermione had to protect her.

Through lunch Hermione watched Riddle and Meredith closely out of the corner of her eye. However, Meredith's pumpkin juice didn't seem to hold any of the characteristics of Amortentia, and Riddle was obviously not acting any differently. He was charming and charismatic, and as he spoke the entire table remained riveted on him, like serpents hypnotized by a well-versed snake charmer. When he told a joke every Slytherin chuckled, exchanging admiring glances, and Meredith's laugh sailed over all the rest, sweet and clear as a bell. Any other day Hermione would have felt contempt for the girl - now, however, all she felt was worry

All through Arithmancy she was frazzled. Riddle wasn't in this class and she had no idea whether or not he was with Meredith. Rationally, she knew he was not, for he wasn't stupid enough to risk being caught in plain daylight. Riddle was smart – more than smart, he was a damn genius. _A cunning, lying genius. _She really should have known he would do something like this, how did she not see it coming in the first place?

Hermione's thoughts were cut short when the bell rang and she shot out of her seat, barely remembering to grab her bag in her haste to get to DADA - a class both Riddle and Meredith were in. She all but ran through the halls and tapped her foot impatiently as a huge, creaking staircase swept through the air and swung into place underneath her. She saw Minerva and Augusta in the hall but didn't stop to say hello. A minute later she was in the empty DADA classroom, out of breath and cursing.

"_Il y a q__uelqu'un ici_?" Professor Chanté's voice called from somewhere in the supplies closet, which had a narrow, thin door attached to it but was actually half the size of a football stadium inside. He walked out a second later, blue quill askew and a large blanketed bird cage in-hand. "I said who's – oh _salut_, Hermione!"

_"B-bonjour,"_ she wheezed.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just…walked…very…fast."

Professor Chanté frowned. "You should be more careful," he tsked, ushering her to the other side of the room and pushing her into a seat. "Women are fragile and while you're an excellent dueler you are not indestructible, Hermione."

At first, Hermione was irritated by this but then realized what era she was currently in – and she became even more annoyed. "I really am fine, professor," she said tartly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Oh really?" He sat on a desk, regarding her thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right. You are quite excellent at Defense after all and come close in skill to our best student, Mr. Riddle. In fact, I wonder what a duel between the two of you would be like…" he mused, a glint in his sea-blue eyes.

_I don't. _Changing the subject, she looked behind him and said, "What's that?"

Professor Chanté craned his neck and glanced over his shoulder at the thing on his desk. He grinned. "Oh, you'll see."

Hermione frowned. She hated not knowing things.

At her expression, Professor Chanté pursed his lips and seemed to be in deep thought. After a minute he stood. "Ok ok!" he said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "I'll show you but you have to promise not to tell any of the others, I want it to be a surprise. _Venez!_" He gestured for her to follow and she did, trailing after him to his desk. Up this close, Hermione realized it wasn't a blanket covering the glass cage but a strange black veil and as Professor Chanté took hold of it the material shimmered, twinkling as a thousand stars do in the dead of night.

"Wow," Hermione murmured, transfixed.

"It's spider silk embedded with diamond dust, helps keep them calm," Professor Chanté explained, pausing for effect. "Ready?"

Hermione leaned in. "Ready."

He whisked it off and she gasped. It was like the alternate universe version of the time Gilderoy Lockhart had brought demonic pixies to class, except this time there weren't creepy little blue creatures with golf ball-sized eyes and wiry antennas spitting on her, but what looked like two white flames bobbing serenely behind the glass. Exposed to the light, their flare brightened and they swayed toward Hermione. Her heart beat a little faster and _that_ scent appeared again, the one that reaked of Dark magic and overturned dirt. She almost thought she heard little whispers in her head, crooning soft nothings to her… What were they saying?

"Do you know what they are?" Professor Chanté said, interrupting her thoughts. He was right beside her, blue eyes lit by the ghostly creatures' glow and blonde hair a shade paler under their iridescence.

"Will-o'-the-wisps," Hermione said immediately. "Where did you find them?"

"I was in Dublin with some friends. We got drunk and stupidly went out to some forest, set on finding a banshee – Merlin knows why – anyway, I lost my way and almost face-planted right into a swamp when these little buggers showed up. I thought they were fireflies at first, but when I took a closer look…" he trailed.

"I thought they'd gone extinct."

Professor Chanté looked boggled. "Extinct! Where on earth did you hear that?"

She frowned and was about to explain just how the effects of deforestation and ozone depletion had wiped the will-o'-the-wisps off the planet, but snapped her mouth shut when she realized he would have no idea what she was talking about. She was in the '40s! According to Muggles and wizards alike, global warming and UV rays didn't even exist, and CFCs were a good thing.

_Oy._

"Er, never mind, just a stereotype, I guess," Hermione lied.

"Many wizards think they're only myths," Professor Chanté said empathetically. "I'm surprised you recognized them at all, they're quite uncommon."

She shrugged. "I read a book on them."

"You read many books, don't you?" he observed.

"Well, yes," she started to say, but froze when he rubbed his thumb over her cheek. _What-?_

"Ink," he explained, holding up his stained thumb for proof.

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised and a little embarrassed. "Er, thanks."

She straightened, pretending to check her watch. "The class should start filling up soon," she said loudly, "so I'll – um - just go take my seat."

Professor Chanté glanced at the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the classroom, which produced a rare scowl from him. "Blast, you're right." Professor Chanté threw the spider silk back over the will-o'-the-wisps and cast a ward on them before he hurried into the supplies closet, shouting, "I'll be right back!"

Within minutes the classroom was jam packed with seventh-years, who once they caught sight of the mysterious cage rushed over to gather around it. Dolohov tried to take off the blanket and cried out when an electric shock charged through his arm, knocking him flat on his back. The class laughed uproariously as he struggled to his feet, limbs twitching. Hermione however kept her eyes on the door, all thoughts of Professor Chanté and flame-like creatures dissipated, and a moment later Riddle and Meredith walked in hand-in-hand. Her magic seemed to bristle with her at the sight, but she repressed these unreasonable reactions - they were ridiculous, honestly... although she couldn't _help_ but wonder how Meredith would react when she was inevitably burned.

Riddle caught her eyes on the way to his seat and winked. Hermione looked away, teeth gnashing. It was infuriating how seamlessly perfect he appeared, how well he could play his part, when underneath all that he was just schemes, manipulation, and sheer evil. No one even knew it! Hell, she hadn't known what he was up to until a few hours ago.

_Stupid Riddle is always messing up my plans._

"The soiree is going to be wonderful!" Minerva exclaimed when she arrived, in one of her rare moments of excitement, and slapped some library books down on the desk. "Augusta is going to let me borrow one of her dresses since I don't have any." In a lower voice she added, "I don't know if you've noticed but I'm not exactly...well, you know, _girly."_

"No, no, you're very girly," Hermione assured, although this was a bold-faced lie. Minerva was about as girly as Horace Slughorn in a tutu after a week without shaving and deodarant.

"No matter," Minerva sniffed, tightening her prim bun and smoothing the frizzy wisps around her ears. "It will be plenty of fun. Maybe I'll even drink some spiked pumpkin juice."

"Minny!"

"Augusta said if I loosen up I'm more likely to be courted."

Hermione grinned. "Well, on any account I am impressed."

Professor Chanté called for class to start and began by listing characteristics of the 'mystery creature' in the cage, asking everyone to guess what it was. After the first two hints all the students, aside from Hermione and Tom, looked stumped, and since Hermione couldn't answer (_that would be cheating!)_ Riddle was called.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle?" Professor Chanté inquired.

"The creatures emitting mysterious light and often appearing as death omens or to lost travelers are the will-o'-the-wisps, professor," Riddle said.

"Good work, like always," Professor Chanté approved and Riddle bowed his head modestly as the professor awarded him ten house points. Meredith beamed, whispering something to him and clasping their hands on the desktop for all to see. Hermione tried to ignore them and focus on Professor Chanté, who revealed the ethereal creatures next and let the class coo at them for a few moments before he began to list their function and natural habitats...

When class was over Hermione didn't linger - she still felt a little uneasy about Professor Chanté - and instead headed to dinner with Minerva. Entering the Great Hall the girls split up, promising to see each other at the soiree, and Hermione took her seat in the Slytherin section, once more wedged between Elphy and Abraxas. Regulus was still missing, although she now doubted he was sick in bed as Abraxas claimed. Hermione's stomach flipped at the memory of Riddle's threat and she suddenly stopped eating the delicious minestrone before her, appetite replaced by horror.

Elphy, who seemed to have gotten over her short-lived depression in the excitement over tonight's soiree, had already eaten all of her diet-approved vegetables and meat of choice. She presently reviewed every minute detail of her dress, which had been imported from Paris and cost more than five years' worth of Hermione's wardrobe _plus _school supplies. She yammered on about who was courting who, who was cheating on who, and the like. The Slytheriness herself was attending the party with Abraxas out of convenience, who despite all their quarrels she'd known since she was four-years old through ancient family connections and wanted to keep out of trouble at the soiree.

"What about you, Hermione?" Elphy asked, turning those kohl-lined moss eyes on her with a mischievious quirk of her mouth - otherwise known as the signature Slytherin smirk. "Are you going with anyone?"

"No, not really. I'm just meeting some friends there." At Parkinson's stunned expression, Hermione faltered. "What?"

"Well, it's just I thought that _you _would be the last person to go without a date what with all those rumors floating around," Parkinson said, sounding honestly shocked. "You mean to say no one asked you?"

"Well…no." Hermione's cheeks colored a little. "I'm used to it though, so-"

"If I'd known I would've taken you," Abraxas said, jabbing his thumb at Elfy next to him. "Maybe next time since I'm stuck with _this_ nutter now."

Elphy snatched Dolohov's latest edition of the Daily Prophet, rolled it up, and smacked Abraxas over the platinum blonde head with it. "OW!" he shouted, fixing his hair and glaring at her. "What the hell, Elphy?"

"That's what you get for being an inconsiderate git," she said icily.

"You're so oversensitive," Abraxas sneered. "I can't say one damn thing without getting hexed, whacked, or jinxed-"

"Well, it's not like I'm deaf, you idiot!"

Promptly, they broke into one of their infamous arguments.

Dolohov sighed, straightened out the wrinkles in his Daily Prophet, and went back to completing a crossword puzzle. Hermione looked down two seats to see Meredith trail her manicured nails down Riddle's arm and intertwine her fingers with his. For some odd reason, she felt a weird twinge in her stomach at this and her magic gave a terrible jerk, straining to swat those hands away. Hermione forced herself to keep looking, however, and made sure Riddle didn't offer her anything to drink.

Even if she did detest Meredith. _A lot._

Hermione sighed.

When dinner was finally over Elphy shot out of her seat like a rocket and grabbed Hermione's hand, dragging them out of the Great Hall within seconds. Meredith watched them go, eyes slanted into brown slits and mouth pursed. She still didn't see why Elphy affiliated with the Mudblood, but she was sure she'd come crawling back to her soon enough. At least she hoped Elphy would come back...

Once in the dormitory, Elphy took one look at the packed room filled with yammering girls getting ready for bed and grabbed a nearby lamp shade. She put it to her mouth and taking a deep breath, bellowed, "ALL GIRLS NOT ATTENDING THE SOIREE TONIGHT LEAVE _NOW. _I REPEAT, LEAVE NOW OR ALL YOUR UNDERGARMENTS WILL BE FOUND ON TOP OF THE ASTRONOMY TOWER SATURDAY MORNING, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO KNICKERS, LINGERIE, GRANNY PANTIES, AND 100% COTTON..."

At this, the disbelieving looks on the Slytherins' faces gave way to fear and various girls yanked their robes on over nightgowns, hurrying out of the dorm grumbling and squealing when Elphy shot a Stinging Hex after one of them. "Much better," she said approvingly, looking around to see only other Slug Club members in the room, sans Meredith, Fabia, and Parkinson. "Now we can get ready."

"You are truly crazy," Hermione said, shocked.

"_Merci_, _mademoiselle_," Elphy simpered, falling into a graceful curtsy. "Ready to get dressed?"

"Oh, I'll get dressed later. I won't take long anyway," Hermione lied. The truth was she hadn't got a dress. Who had time to get wardrobe fittings when there was so much to be done? "Besides, I have to go make a potion for extra-credit-"

Elphy groaned. "Oh come on. Can't it wait? I'll do your hair and everything!"

"Maybe another time," Hermione said vaguely, already halfway out the door. "See you soon!"

She raced downstairs and out of the dormitory, running all the way to what would be Moaning Myrtle's bathroom in the future. She arrived there breathless and sweaty and locked the door behind her, glad no one would probably be coming to the taboo bathroom anyway since Myrtle had been killed here two years ago. Hermione took out her beaded bag and waved her wand, summoning all the necessary items for the Despicable Concoction. She got to work instantly, brewing and preparing furiously, and the potion was just pinkening when she heard a proud, smooth voice speak from behind her.

"Back so soon, Miss Granger?"

"Hello Helena," Hermione greeted, stirring the mixture carefully, and glanced at the haughty, beautiful ghost. "You saw me here earlier?"

"No, I was watching a very close game of Wizard's Chess between two second-years," Helena said, gliding forward to hover before Hermione. She peered down the cauldron. "Despicable Concoction, hm? Whatever you must be up to must be much more exciting than a game of chess."

"Exciting wouldn't be the word I'd employ," Hermione grumbled.

"No matter the adjective, I want to know who this is for," Helena said covertly, whisking back several feet and perching on a sink. Her long skirts pooled on the floor in a puddle of translucent silk and velvet. "Is it that man again? Are you getting your revenge?"

"No, unfortunately not."

Helena sighed heavily, suddenly a deal less interested. "Shame."

Hermione sat back. The potion was a deep ruby sheen now, but it would be another hour until it was ready for a name. "He is the reason I'm doing this at all though," Hermione added, checking her watch only to find Sluggy's soiree started ten minutes ago. Damn, she was late!

"Oh shoot!" she cursed, jumping to her feet and blitzing to the sinks. "I have to go now. Could you make sure Gregovitch doesn't come in? I really need to keep that potion here."

Helena regarded Hermione for a long minute that felt like forever, braiding her long flowing hair absent-mindedly, and her fingers went in and out of the moon-white locks as rapidly as a weaver's hand plucks at a threaded loom. "Hm…"

"Please!"

"Well, I could get Peeves on it, I suppose," Helena mused and met Hermione's pleading eyes in the mirror with stony ones. "However, you would – what do you children call it these days? – 'owe me one.'"

"Sure, that's fine," Hermione said, casting a Hair-Smoothing Charm and straightening her robes in a futile effort to look presentable. She charmed away a potion stain. "I'll be back in about an hour, ok?"

"Do not fret, Miss Granger," Helena said and there was a rare smile on her chalky lips Hermione didn't have the time to decipher. "No one shall touch your little potion."

When Hermione finally reached the soiree she entered the normally empty but now extravagantly embellished Hogwarts ballroom, which was lined on all sides by champagne-gold drapes that reached the floor and strung tinsel. Tables filled with food and crystal punchbowls were in the back, a quartet of goblins played strings on a hovering platform, and the dance floor was a maze of swirling dresses and dress robes. The few students on the sidelines were sipping at pumpkin juice that smelled suspiciously of Butterbeer and Prefects conversed in close-knit groups, watching everything around them with beady eyes.

Hermione looked around the beautiful room searchingly. She saw Minerva in a black silk dress dancing with Henry Clervin and Augusta flirting with Professor Chanté, who looked handsome in his formal robes and was chaperoning – but there was no sign of Riddle. Panic momentarily engulfed her. Was she too late? But no, Hermione caught a glimpse of flawless dark skin and a daringly-low neckline, and following it she found Meredith, looking very pretty in her sleeveless purple gown and laughing at something Riddle had said. She didn't, however, sport the usual signs of a person under Amortentia. Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

Seeing Riddle, her breath cut short.

He was…dashing. Striking in his beauty, like Lucifer before his fall. The robes that hung drably on the other boys were elegant and sleek on his sinewy physique, and his eyes were black fire against chiseled cheekbones, which looked sharp enough to cut glass under the shadowy night sky the ceiling had been enchanted into. Hermione felt more inadequate than ever watching him move across the floor with Meredith, whose attractive face suddenly looked much less impressive next to Riddle's effortless allure. Hermione even forgot her anger for an instant in her mesmerism.

"You're staring," Elphy sang, startling her, and Hermione turned to see her friend laugh. "He's so handsome, isn't he? Meredith is one lucky bitch."

"Bitch is right," she said automatically and Elphy snorted in agreement. "Where's Abraxas?"

"Oh, he got drunk ages ago." Elphy glanced down and blinked, shock registering on her features as she looked Hermione over. "Oh my… where on earth is your dress?"

"I didn't have time to get one," Hermione said absently, trying not to lose sight of Riddle and Meredith in the froe.

"Why didn't you tell me? I must have twenty extra and that's just in my trunk!" A house-elf hopped by and Hermione struggled to see past its platter of flower-shaped citrus to the couple nearly swallowed in the crowd. "Hermione, are you even listening?" Elphy snapped.

"Yes, yes," Hermione said distantly. "Sorry, I'm just…distracted."

Elphy followed her gaze to Riddle and sighed. "Look, they won't last long. Tom rarely ever dates and when he does it never lives longer than a week."

"How do his…relationships…usually end?" Hermione said curiously.

"For girls, in heartbreak, but Tom is never affected. No one truly strikes his fancy, I suppose." Elphy's eyes lighted on Abraxas, who was snogging a giggling Hufflepuff, and rolled her eyes. "I'll be right back, princess."

Hermione watched Elphy wriggle through the crowd and her long strawberry blonde hair, which was twined into an elegant up-do and spritzed with silver glitter, disappear in the mass of shimmery dresses and shawls. Hermione looked around, realizing she couldn't see Riddle and Meredith anymore, and worry had begun to set in when someone else came up to her. Horace Slughorn, to be exact. _Oh, please no, _she thought as he stepped forward, blocking her view with his wide girth. She craned her neck, but by the time she caught a glimpse of the dance floor it was only to find Tom and Meredith were nowhere in sight. She _lost_ them.

_Riddle, where are you? _she thought furiously. Magic charged through her, as if her anger was a catalyst, and it danced over her body and down to her fingertips, humming menacingly.

Slughorn had reached her, having waddled his way through the sea of students, and instead of greeting her with one of his pleased smiles as per usual he was frowning. "Miss Granger, were you, ah, aware that this event required formal attire?"

Hermione, who was in no mood to think about frivolous things like dress codes, did not respond to this comment kindly. "I am aware, professor," she replied, a smile warm as the arctic pasted on her face, "but quite frankly I don't care to wear a frilly dress and establish any connections with snobby aristocrats or Pureblood _prats."_

Slughorn looked shocked, but his face soon turned red with indignation. "Miss Granger, how dare you even suggest, even imply such things!" His words dissolved into a sputter as Hermione grabbed him by his waistcoat and Slughorn met her eyes, gasping. "I-I am _appalled _at your behavior! What in blazes has gotten into you?"

_Riddle has. _

Hermione called on the Founder's Magic, which came eagerly and begged to be used as it spun through her veins. Staring into Slughorn's piggy eyes intently, she said, "I was wearing a dress tonight, it was green and sleeveless, quite tasteful if you do say so yourself, professor. You wanted to talk to me, but being the party host you were much too busy and sadly didn't get a chance. You hope I enjoyed myself."

"I hope you enjoyed yourself," Slughorn slurred.

Hermione let him go and started looking for Riddle.

In the back of the ballroom, Tom plucked a flute of sparkling cider off some house elf's tray and poured two drops of Amortentia into it – just enough for an hour or two, although he wouldn't need that long. The deep red potion turned the drink the slightest shade darker and Tom felt anticipation coil low in his stomach as he re-entered the dance floor, finding Meredith within seconds and offering the drink to her with a charming smile.

"Thirsty?" he asked and she nodded, beaming.

"Thank you, Tom," Meredith said, bringing it to her glossed lips. Admiration saturated her gaze and Tom soaked it up like a bone-dry sponge in the desert, smirking. "You're always so thoughtful."

Something caught her eye over his shoulder – no, not just something. That bitch! It was Hermione Granger and she wasn't even wearing a dress. Meredith scoffed. So she really _didn't_ have one, did she? Meredith had figured she'd just been too embarrassed to admit she bought hers from some Muggle trash store, but this was so much better. _Ha!_ And Slughorn was telling her off for it, too! Served that skank right for trying so hard to weasel her way in here and steal Meredith's place. Dirty whore.

Suddenly, the strangest thing happened. Two things in fact. The first had to do with Hermione Granger, for she leaned forward - actually grabbing Slughorn! – and as she said something the Potion Master's face abruptly emptied of all emotion, like he was on dope or something. The other strange thing was a buttery warm feeling that spread through every inch of Meredith and her surprise was replaced by the feeling of utter completion. She hadn't felt like this since she'd had that abortion, since father started drinking and got that dirty Halfblood mistress, since mother found out about her and Elphy, and it was all because of… Tom Riddle.

Tom saw the expression on Meredith's face glaze and go slap-happy with unbound affection. He held out his hand to her. "Come, Meredith."

"Yes, Tom." She followed him off the floor, forgetting to put down her glass in her haste to please, and he led them into the hall.

Tom brought her to the classroom where he held his Death Eater meetings and gestured for her to go in. She did and kept her wide, dark eyes on him as he put a locking charm on the door and cast silence wards. "What are we doing here?" she asked, smiling widely.

"You have something that belongs to me," Tom said softly, facing her, and she was struck by the full effect of his beauty. Her breath caught. "I need it back."

Eagerly, Meredith said, "Oh, whatever it is, you can have it." How could she deny him? How could she say no to someone so beautiful and selfless? _That, _that would be cruel of her. Criminal. She'd give him the world if he asked for it.

His dark eyes left her face and lowered, greed blooming in his gaze. "It's that...locket...around your neck."

Meredith touched Slytherin's locket, bemused. "Y-you want this?"

"Yes." His eyes bored into hers and he brushed her hair back, caressing her cheek with the other. The glass in her hand smashed to the floor. "It is mine, after all, and I appreciate you returning it."

Meredith faltered. "Grandmother Hepzibah gave this to me," she said, confused. "She'll be furious if I give it away and has already threatened to cut me-"

"It will make me happy," Tom whispered and she sighed as his lips moved over her cheek to her ear. "Give it to me, Meredith. Now." His warm breath sent shivers down her spine.

She unclasped the necklace, holding it out to him.

Tom snatched it out of her hands and rubbed his thumb over the gold surface, memorizing the bumps and curves of embedded diamonds and emeralds. Finally! He had his locket back, the locket that was rightfully his and should have been passed down to him by his whore of a mother, who moronically sold the priceless heirloom for cheap on the streets. Oh, how he abhorred that woman.

It didn't matter now though. He had his locket.

_So why doesn't it feel like enough?_

Meredith watched as Tom put the locket in his dress robes pocket, beaming in satisfaction, but her smile faltered when his cold eyes met hers. "What's wrong?" she said, confused, reaching out to smooth the crease in his brow away. He side-stepped her.

"You are."

She blinked, stunned, and tears prickled her eyes. "W-what did I do?" Meredith stammered.

"You should never have gotten this locket, it always belonged to me," Tom said thoughtfully, drawing his wand. "Before you were born, before even I was born, and it's an outrage you ever set eyes on it, much less wore it to a school soiree," he sneered.

Meredith's heart shattered. "I-I'm sorry, Tom. Really. What can I do?"

He smiled softly at her, but it wasn't the same charming smile Tom Riddle usually wore. Something was…off about it. Goosebumps broke out on her skin. "Nothing at all." Meredith shuddered, her legs unconsciously bringing her to the door, and he followed, graceful feet crunching the glass shards into dust beneath him. "You can't apologize. You can do nothing at all to better yourself... You're worthless and you've disappointed me, but there's still something to be obtained out of this. And I deserve my gratification, don't I?"

"I don't understand, Tom," Meredith whimpered, now flat against the door. She wanted to leave, yet she didn't at all. Her mind told her to stay with him forever and ever, but her body acted on auto-pilot and screamed for her to run. Hand shaking, she rattled the doorknob but it didn't budge. Locked. Fear tore through her as she realized she was trapped.

Tom took her trembling hand and pulled her away from the door. "You don't need to." Staring down at her – oh Salazar, she was already sobbing – he thought of Hermione. Meredith was nothing like her. Meredith could be tricked so easily and reduced to a hysterical mess within moments, _that _was why he felt no gratification at the claiming of Slytherin's locket, in any of this – because she was not a prize. He had still yet to claim all that was rightfully his.

Why did that girl resist him? Anger swirled through Tom, hot and delicious. Was he not good enough for her? What did he have to do, to become to sway her? What did she _want_? And why shouldn't he have her? She was everything he deserved: intelligent, attractive, and sought after by others. Tom saw the way Regulus and Abraxas looked at her, the curiosity in his schoolmates' eyes, and how even Dumbledore watched her so closely. She was orphaned, she understood what it was like to have things ripped away and she could even understand him if he _made_ her.

He'd do anything to possess her.

"Tom, I'm scared," Meredith whispered.

He started, having forgotten the girl was even there, and turned those heartless black eyes on her. "Your make-up is ruined," he stated, tilting his head. "You're a mess."

"Oh, I-I-" She tried to collect herself. "I'll fix it right now. Excuse me-"

The rest of her words were drowned by Tom's cold laugh and she froze, staring at him. "As if someone like you can be fixed," he murmured, waving his wand, and a jet of green light flew from it and smashed into Meredith's chest before she could blink. She gasped, clawing at the burn that blossomed there like a piping hot brand. Choking. "You could never be enough."

"T-Tom, please stop… I don't understand…"

These words annoyed him. He doubled the force of the spell and Meredith sputtered, falling to the floor and bashing her head on the edge of a desk on the way down. She thrashed and blood pooled from the gash on her temple, dripping to the ground and quickly spreading underneath her. His Dark magic consumed the air.

"Of course you don't," he said, smiling vindictively. "You're too dim to understand much of anything, aren't you? Pulling nasty tricks on girls you don't like to fool yourself that you're worthy of something. Oh yes, I see right through you, Meredith Smith…" He chuckled when she started vomiting torrents of saltwater. "Do you like it? I invented the curse myself," he said, twirling his wand. "If you don't bleed to death first, you'll drown yourself from the inside out."

Meredith couldn't speak through all the water exploding out of her. It rushed out of her nostrils, eyes, and ears, and her bloodcurdling scream turned into gargles as she ran out of air. Her lungs seemed to whither and shrink inside her ribcage, and Tom stood, indifferently brushing a speck of blood off his dress robes. He kneeled down beside her and in a burst of hopefulness she thought he might kiss her, but instead he pressed the tip of his yew wand to her temple.

"_Obliviate," _he intoned, wiping away her every last memory after leaving the soiree.

Tom stepped on Meredith Smith's twitching hand on his way out of the classroom, ignoring her whimper. His rage had been appeased, Slytherin's Locket was safe in his pocket, and victory closer than ever. How excellent a night this was turning out to be...

* * *

**AN: Oh Salazar, Tom Riddle is on the warpath. For God's sake, Hermione, watch the fuck out! That boy makes me nervous.**

**...in a good way, but still. **

**Please review, lovely readers. I have homemade Tomione trinkets waiting for you! **


	15. Jack & Jill

**AN: You guys are seriously the best. I am incomplete without your wonderfulness. **

* * *

_**"Jack and Jill went up the hill  
****To fetch a pail of water;  
****Jack fell down and broke his crown,  
****and Jill came tumbling after******__."_

_**- Mother Goose**_

* * *

Godric's Hollow, England  
1898

"It will be easy. You'll be in and out in less than a minute, I promise."

"I don't steal."

"Not even for me?"

"Gell…you know I can't."

Gellert turned on his heel and all Albus could see of him were his butterscotch-gold ringlets and handsome vest, stretched tightly across his back as he crossed his arms. Albus sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I thought there was more to you than that," Gellert said disappointedly, voice dropping to a low whisper. "I thought you…cared for me."

"But I do!" Albus said, coming over to him. Gellert sidestepped him. "Gell, please-"

"If you _cared_ for me, you'd do this." Gellert turned around, leveling the full force of his turquoise eyes on Albus. "For us."

Albus squirmed. "I do care," he said. "I just-"

"I understand that you're nervous, but it's easy." Gellert grinned crookedly. "Like ripping off a band-aid. Quick!"

"And a little painful," Albus grumbled.

Gellert's handsome face darkened. "Why must you do that?" he snapped. "Try not looking at the glass half-empty every once in a while, won't you, Albus?" At the other wizard's hurt expression, he looked pained and sighed. "I didn't mean it like that."

"You're sure there isn't any other way to secure the map?"

"_No,_ the wretched dealer won't sell it for any less than sixty Galleons and neither you nor I have that kind of money," Gellert hissed, scorn flashing in his gaze. It went away quickly though and he turned to Albus with a little smile that crinkled the bridge of his strong nose. "Which is why I need you to get it for me. The bloke has already seen me but won't recognize you, especially if you use the Morphus Spell."

Albus mulled over this. He did hate to disappoint Gell…

Seeing that he was about to give, Gellert pressed, "Please, Al? For me."

"I… oh alright."

Gellert's grin could have outshined the Eiffel Tower at midnight. "I knew I could count on you, love," he laughed, hiding them behind an apple tree before taking Albus' face in his hands and kissing him hard. He pulled back, ruffling Albus' auburn hair. "You're special. One day the world will know how brilliant you and I are, and they'll love us."

Albus smiled, trapped in the beautiful vision Gell's words had painted. "All great power comes with sacrifices," Gellert added. "This is yours."

He nodded. Yes, this would be his sacrifice.

"It's worth it, isn't it?" Gellert continued, caressing the curve of Albus' cheek. "Worth me?"

"Yes," Albus murmured and Gellert smiled that askew, mischievous grin of his and awarded him with another kiss. Albus sighed. How he loved Gell.

"Stay with me, Albus," Gellert whispered, strong hands coming up to frame his face as their lip-lock became more feverish. "Forever."

"Forever," Albus echoed.

* * *

Hogwarts, England  
1943

As a muddled Slughorn teetered to the punchbowl Hermione turned to see Meredith and Riddle had left completely. Horror struck her. _No, that can't be... They were just here! _But it was, she realized as she looked frantically around the laughing fro - they were gone. She struggled through the throng of dancing students, skirting a house-elf about to topple under the weight of a giant goblet filled with crustaceans, and burst through the exit.

She glanced up and down the empty hallway, lit in an orange-glow cast by the torches and ominous against the deafening silence, so startling after the clamor of the party. She was the only one out here, for everyone else was either in bed or at the soiree, so where were Riddle and Meredith? She hurried down the corridor, checking each classroom and even a few bathrooms on the way, but to no avail. They weren't here.

_I lost them. _

Defeated, Hermione was about to go back to Slughorn's soiree when she heard a strange noise. A low…keening? She followed it down another hall and arrived at an empty Muggle Studies classroom. Opening the door, she didn't see anything in the darkness but still heard that weird whimpering. She stepped forward and gasped when she felt sticky liquid under her feet. The wetness suctioned on the soles of her shoes when she lifted them and Hermione bent down to see what she stepped on was bright red. Her stomach dropped at the sight of diluted burgundy blood shining in the moonlight. It smelled of saltwater.

"Meredith," she whispered.

Hermione shoved back memories of the last time she'd seen blood in Hogwarts and lit her wand, holding it out in front of her to see Meredith Smith's crumpled form less than two feet away from her, soaking in a bath of blood that oozed murkily from her temple. It reminded Hermione of the time Meredith passed her a gravy boat of mud in the Great Hall.

"_Taste good, doesn't it?" _she'd said.

How bittersweet revenge was.

Hermione carefully made her way over to the unconscious Meredith and knelt beside her. She was still breathing and the noise Hermione had heard was Meredith's whimpering. "What did he do to you?" Hermione said to herself, looking around the otherwise untouched classroom. The only thing out of place was the girl slowly dying on the floor and bit of blood on a desk beside her.

She wanted to know what happened.

Reaching down, Hermione touched Meredith's head and summoned the Founder's Magic, which flew readily into her body. It quivered on her skin and a charge sparked her fingertips as she pressed them firmly against Meredith's forehead. _Leglimens! _she thought and her magic propelled into Meredith's mind like an angry, searching whip of electricity - and hit a blank wall. Hermione gasped and opened her eyes.

He _Obliviated_ Meredith Smith.

And left her to die.

Hermione felt…nauseous. Riddle really was sick. She looked over Meredith's form. Oh goodness, she was a mess. Meredith was at least two shades paler, shivering, and even her necklace was gone. Hermione had to get her to the hospital wing quickly-

_Wait._ Her necklace was gone?

It dawned on Hermione that _this_ was what Riddle had been after all along: Slytherin's Locket. Oh, it was so obvious now! Meredith had been in his way, an obstacle, and he had eliminated her – or he almost did anyway – but now she was going to live. Hermione would make sure of it.

"Meredith, wake up," she urged, shaking the unconscious girl lightly when she didn't move. "Meredith, listen to me! You have to wake up-"

Suddenly, Meredith's eyes snapped open and Hermione flinched on seeing her normally brown orbs bloodshot. Her eyes wheeled around her wildly. "W-where am I? What's-?" Her gaze landed on Hermione and her pupils dilated in pure, unadulterated fear. She hashed out a bloodcurdling scream.

Hermione was thrown back when the girl started to fight, clenched fists flailing through the air haphazardly and one catching her in the chin. Hermione gasped and stars spiraled across her vision in silver dots, but she shook them off and dizzily scrambled back to Meredith, careful to stay out of hitting range. "Meredith, what's wrong?" she demanded.

"Get away from me!" Meredith shrieked, bursting into tears. "_I saw what you did."_

Hermione didn't understand. "What do you mean?" Meredith did not answer, sobbing harder. Again, Hermione pressed, "Meredith, what did you see?"

A disgusted leer morphed her face and Meredith's eyes slanted from between her bloodstained fingers. "You did s-something to S-Slughorn. S-s-something Unforgivable! – and then the world went dark and now I'm here. You did this to me, didn't you? _You did it!_" Her eyes widened and she hid her face in her hands, shuddering. "You've got Dark magic."

Hermione went cold. She saw that?

"I-I don't have any…" Hermione started to say, but was cut off by the sound of clumsy ambling coming from the hall.

"_Who's there!?" _Gregovitch's hollered, his wheezy voice increasing in volume as the seconds ticked by. "_Come out! It's straight to Dippet's office with you, you little maggot!"_

Blast! She had to go – quickly – but first Hermione needed to do one thing. If Meredith were to live, after all, she couldn't know about Riddle…even if he was a loathsome bastard. She summoned the Founder's Magic once more and Meredith started to scream again. Fury churned through Hermione at the sound. Riddle had done this and now Meredith was afraid of _her?_ Plus, Gregovitch was still shouting out there like a banshee and she had yet to get to Dumbledore before he left. Her plan - oh again, her stupid, impossible plan was falling apart.

"No, don't!" Meredith gasped, on the verge of hyperventilation. "Don't you dare touch me with your _filthy_, _impure_ hands, you disgusting Mudbl-"

"Oh shut up, you idiotic bigot," Hermione interrupted sharply, grabbing Meredith's face and pulling her up to eye-level. Meredith desperately fought to avoid her gaze, clawing at her hands and shrieking, but Hermione had so much magic pumping through her she didn't even need an eye connection and Meredith's scratching nails felt like kitten claws.

"_HELP ME!"_ she screeched and Gregovitch's yells got louder.

"You drank too much Firewhiskey and left the dance early," Hermione said, quickly. "You thought this was the toilet and came in here, but slipped on a puddle of potions and cracked your head on a desk. You didn't wake up until Gregovitch found you. Got it?"

Meredith's thrashing stopped. "I drank too much?" she said, confused.

"Yes." Hermione paused. Dumbledore had told her to _never _mess with any person's personality, for it was very dangerous magic, but she was tired of Meredith hounding her like a dog every other minute of the day - sooner or later she'd get too close and find out what Hermione was really up to in Hogwarts - so this, surely, must be the logical exception? Yes, surely. She took a deep breath. "You'll also stop being so cruel and bothersome…alright?"

"Okay."

Good enough. Hermione straightened and Meredith fell asleep immediately, slumping against a desk leg, head bent at an awkward angle and beautiful ebony hair matted with blood. Hermione realized her robes were spotted with the crimson liquid, too, when she entered the lit hall. She took them off and stashed them behind a knight. Gregovitch was still far off but getting closer, so Hermione shot two _Reductos _at the wall across from the classroom Meredith was in as a final touch, exploding several chunks of brick that ratcheted off the ceiling and some nearby artifacts on display.

"_Ha, that'll be comin' out o' yer tuition! Got you now, ye bloody termites!" _Gregovitch bellowed, followed by the sound of uneven running. He'd find Meredith now.

Hermione stowed her wand and took off, jumping on a moving staircase and going to the seventh floor girl's toilet. She ran in to find the large bathroom vacant and her potion cooled, hastening to it and quickly pouring some of the Despicable Concoction into a flask, where it hissed when she lifted it. "Grindelwald!" she exclaimed.

Hermione corked the potion and she was off again, running to Dumbledore's office on the third floor. She screeched to a halt outside his door and knocked on it frantically. BANG. BANG. BANG. No response. Again, she pounded her fist on the door. BANG. BANG. BANG. _Oh no, he's not answering! He's not answering! _She tried the knob but it wouldn't budge and none of her Unlocking Charms were working. She peered in the small window to see the office pitch-black inside and obviously vacated. No one was there. Dumbledore had left for Germany.

He left?

He left.

Hermione felt murderous.

Tom Riddle had...ruined everything. Her plan. The Despicable Concoction. Meredith. Now, she'd rebrewed the potion and come to Dumbledore's office only to find the Transfiguration professor was gone. Fucking _gone. _She could not complete the task without step four, but step four was officially a bust, and it was all Riddle's damn fault. She'd come back to the '40s for nothing!

Hermione barely noticed her magic cranking up around her, reaching levels of intensity it had never spanned before, for she was too distracted by the terrible sensation of a pounding heart, racing pulse, and the raw…_need _for something. She didn't know what it was, but she was suddenly ravenous for it. Hermione tried to shove the emotion aside and the only thought pushing her mind away from it was vengeance. Oh, Riddle was going to get the lecturing of his life!

She stormed up the halls and enchanted staircases, shoes clacking sharply against the gleaming marble floors, and stormed to the Head's common room. That son of a bitch was going to get what was coming to him. She clenched her wand at her side and several portrait inhabitants scurried into the backgrounds of their canvases at her approach.

The entrance to the Head's common room loomed before her, a towering landscape of a green meadow filled with rustling flowers that sighed "_Password_?"

_Just open! _Hermione thought and the frame lurched aside a second before she barreled through it. Entering the common room, her eyes whisked over the house banners, crackling fire, and cozy furniture uncaringly and landed on Tom Riddle, who was gazing at something in his palm that glinted June gold in the firelight but was swallowed by his fist before she had the chance to see what it was. However, as his cool black eyes swiveled around and rested on her she immediately knew what the object he'd so slyly slipped in his pocket had been.

Her anger increased tenfold.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?" Riddle said, cocking an inquisitive brow.

She stomped up to him, shaking with fury, and when she was close enough that he sensed her livid magic simmering on the air he inched back, eying her warily. "_Tom Riddle," _she hissed, leveling her wand at him. "You are a fucking bastard."

His brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me! You – are – a – fucking – _bastard."_

Riddle sat back and rested his arms on the couch back behind him at her biting words, regarding her with what she furiously realized was actual amusement. "And why is that?" he inquired, crossing his ankles.

"Why?" Hermione snorted. "Because you're insane! I know what you did to Meredith and it's disgusting. All that over a little necklace? Are you serious? You're lucky I saved your arse or you'd be locked up in Azkaban now-"

The humor on Riddle's face suddenly dispersed and he stood up in one fluid movement, roughly grabbing her by the arms before she could step out of his reach. "What did you say?" he asked, voice dangerously soft, and jet-black eyes narrowed into snakelike slits.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the threat in his gaze, but she plunged on valiantly, continuing, "I know about Meredith. In fact, I found her bleeding to death in the Muggle Studies classroom. Were you just going to let her die? Does the weight of murder even register in your sick brain-?"

Riddle's grip on her arms was vice-like, painful, and she winced. His magic growled in her ears, making every hair on her body stand on end. "Don't forget who you're talking to, _darling," _he hissed. "I'll-"

"What? Kill me?" Hermione guessed, laughing without humor. "That'd be just like you. How predictable!"

Riddle glared at her. "What are you talking about?"

_The Chamber of Secrets. All my friends. _Hermione swallowed. Quietly, she said, "You nearly killed Meredith for Slytherin's Locket, although using Amortentia made that completely unnecessary. I know you're dangerous."

His lip curled. "If I'm so dangerous then why are you here?"

She started at that. Well...why _was _she here? It would've been smart to stay away, to not elude him to the fact she knew all about his little games. She was safer in the background, Dumbledore had told her as much, yet here she was trying to claw her way out of the dark. How very Harry Potter of her to act on impulse. "Because I..." At her faltering he smirked patronizingly and her temper broiled, making her spit out the first thing she could come up with. "I'm here because I _hate_ you, Riddle!"

His half-smile dropped, that strong jaw clenched and fury glimmered in his shadow eyes. However, that emotion melted away a second late to leave cold calculation in its place. "How do you know about the Amortentia?" he said. "You couldn't unless you'd taken some of the potion too." At her guilty look, he sported a devilish grin worthy of rivaling the Cheshire cat. This did not make her feel any safer. "Ah, so you did take it. Why would you need Despicable Concoction, hm?"

Oh, so now he was trying to start a Spanish Inquisition? Hermione's anger sparked again, as did her magic, which slashed across his like the swiping claws of a tiger. Riddle's own rose up to meet it, to overpower it. "I _did _need the potion, but you fucked that up by turning it into Amortentia, didn't you!" she snapped.

"I'm surprised you recognize that potion at all," Riddle said, ignoring the jab. He stroked her hair, smiling wider when she tried to wriggle away. His magic, however, overwhelmed hers by far and locked her body in place. He laughed darkly. "Have you had experience with love potions, Hermione?"

"I haven't used it to attempt murder, if that's what you're asking."

Annoyance glanced across his features and his grip on her hair tightened, bringing tears to her eyes. He yanked her head back so her eyes were mere inches away from his own. His magic suffocated her, oppressive but seductive all at once. "Tell anyone about what you saw tonight and I will kill you, Hermione. Jeopardize me in any form or fashion and you will die painfully. Inhumanely," he said softly, with such nonchalance and conviction a shiver rolled through Hermione at the genuine death threat. "I promise that."

His eyes flicked over her twice, drinking in every emotion splayed wide open on her face for the world to see, and he let her go. She stumbled back, rubbing her sore scalp.

When Hermione looked up it was to receive a shock, for suddenly Riddle appeared sorrowful as a fallen angel. Whiplashed, she stared at him in bewilderment. "I apologize, Hermione," he said regretfully, "but I don't think I can trust you to keep this a secret."

Warily, she said, "What are you-?"

"_Obliviate!" _he cast and she automatically ducked, missing the spell by inches. It smashed a lamp into pieces on the opposite side of the room and Hermione wheezed as she hit the floor, rolling over to face him.

"What the-? Are you serious?" she gasped.

Riddle chuckled. "Quite." He flicked his wand and a Slicing Hex spun toward her. She raised her wand to deflect it and it careened off to the side, tearing the wallpaper into rose-print ribbons.

"Wait, wait! I'm not going to tell anyone, I swear!" Hermione said desperately, skirting a purple jet of flames that caught on some curtains behind her, reducing them to ash in seconds.

"And why is that?" Riddle replied drily, firing a third curse that screamed like a banshee as it sailed over her head, tearing a ferocious hole through her shield when she threw one up.

_Because Dumbledore forbid it. _Out loud, Hermione panted, "Well, Meredith is alive and… I-I don't want to get you into trouble."

He stopped trying to hex her but didn't lower his wand, and terrible anger mixed with disdain surfaced on his handsome face, making Hermione flinch. "Oh, I suppose that's because you care so _deeply_ for me?" he sneered.

"Ok, so maybe I don't…_hate_…you," she said reluctantly, realizing the words were true as they passed her lips. "You're just severely infuriating is all."

"So are you." The snarl curling his Bernini-carved lips slowly unraveled and he tilted his head, like a snake who had caught sight of something tasty. His mouth quirked in what may have been a smile and Hermione was abruptly reminded of how hauntingly alluring he looked. His dress robes weren't on anymore, but his tie was loose and cuffs unbuttoned. With dismay, she realized that made him all the more appealing.

_Stupid, evil, handsome bastard._

"I can feel your magic," he said suddenly, startling her. "It's stronger when you're like this."

She scowled. "Like what?" Hermione snarked. "Furious? Threatened?"

His eyes lit with intrigue. "Precisely."

Hermione tensed when he walked toward her, covering the space between him in a few lithe steps. Her heart sped up the closer he became, magic beating like a drum in her veins as he clasped her hand and pulled her to a stand. She tried to hide it, but couldn't help reacting to his touch. There was no rhyme or reason as her senses sharpened and the scent of Dark magic overrode the air, strangely tantalizing, and without meaning to her own magic stretched out and touched his. Hermione's knees buckled slightly and her eyes shut of their own accord.

_Like setting a match to gasoline, _she was on fire.

"There it is," he murmured, seemingly as transfixed as she. "That…spark."

At this, Hermione snapped herself out of it - whatever _it _was - and yanked her hands back, glowering at him. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't feel anything."

"Liar."

"I'm leaving!"

All traces of amusement abandoned his expression and Hermione turned on her heel, chin high and shoulders proud, but her dramatic exit was ruined when Riddle's uncannily long fingers hooked on the collar of her shirt and yanked her back effortlessly. She hit his chest and his mouth was flush against her ear, even as a button cut into her throat and she sputtered, hands flying up to pry his off. "Oh no, little witch, you're not going anywhere," he whispered, low laugh laced with shadows and warning. "We haven't finished just yet."

He shoved her on the couch unceremoniously and Hermione scrambled upright, searching for her wand and sending him a glare from the depths of hell when she saw him twirling it in his hand. "You can't keep me here," she snapped. "I'm not your little slave!"

"Of course you're not," he said, black eyes sliding over her in such a way she recoiled and wished his thought track wasn't so helplessly unfathomable. What _was _he thinking? Riddle smirked. "I was thinking you could be my plaything."

"W-what?"

"You heard me." He sauntered toward her, the darkness in his gaze growing when she scampered back, and dropped their wands on the ornately carved, oak coffee table as he passed it. She stared from his discarded yew wand to him, bewildered, and he tutted in mock sympathy. "You look confused, darling. Shall I show you what I mean?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. Was he going to torture her with his _bare hands?_ Batter her to a pulp? Throttle her? "Please don't," she choked out.

"Don't beg, Hermione. It doesn't become you."

He sat down and her stomach twisted in knots when one of his long-fingered hands reached out, trailing an electric path down her side and pausing over the swell of her hip. All encompassing terror consumed her and she trembled, for all that bravado from a few minutes ago seemed to have flown straight out the window. He pried the edge of her shirt there free until he reached skin and Hermione froze as his fingers roamed there uninhibited. "S-stop that," she whispered.

"Why should I?" he replied. "_I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones-"_

"Stop."

"_And the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which I will again and again and again kiss-"_

"C-cut it out!" she barked, trying to stifle the automatic reaction her body had to his words and feathery touches. She still didn't understand why he was touching her like this. Riddle didn't feel that way about her, about anybody. Wasn't he going to hurt her? Hermione took a deep breath. "I haven't forgotten what you did to Meredith."

He looked irritated. "Why do you even care about that girl? She hasn't done anything for you. If it were you instead of her, she would have left you to die and you know it."

Hermione frowned, a seed of doubt taking root. Riddle was right. Meredith _would _have let her die were their roles reversed. However… "It was the right thing to do," she said determinedly. "I couldn't just leave her there."

"I don't understand your reasoning." Frowning, he muttered, "Maybe you really are just as sweet as you seem?"

Hermione squirmed, deigning it best not to reply.

"Well, I never intended for Meredith to get hurt in the first place," Riddle said, looking away. "She stole something from me and I just wanted it back, but she tripped and I…panicked. I didn't know what to do."

"You left her to die," Hermione said sharply.

"I did nothing of the sort." His fingers resumed their Waltz of the Snowflakes on her skin, breaking her concentration and making her stomach flutter a little. "Or at least I didn't mean to hurt anyone," he added softly.

"You…didn't?" Hermione said, breath hitching, and he nodded. She stared at him, stunned. It had been an accident? She bit her lip. Perhaps Riddle was lying, but then again, he sounded so honest… Well, first of all she needed to learn more. "What do you mean?" she pushed.

He hesitated. "I think the Amortentia went to her head." Riddle glanced at her. "You see, she started acting strange. She even…talked about you."

"Me?" With alarm, Hermione remembered the way Meredith had screamed at her, calling her a dirty Mudblood even when she was trying to help. She stiffened. Did Meredith tell Riddle about what she'd done to Slughorn?

"Yes. She said terrible things, going on about how you weren't good enough for Slytherin and would never become anything worthwhile in life." At this, Hermione's temper sparked. Really, what was that girl's _problem? _Her IQ probably tripled hers! Riddle sighed, breaking her out of her internal rant. "I admit, I lost my temper and started to leave, but then Meredith tried to come after me. Then she…she tripped."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?"

"Somehow, I had the suspicion you wouldn't believe me." Hence sarcasm.

"Well, still… You used Amortentia on her. That's wrong," Hermione pointed out, trying to hold onto the anger that had been raging inside her a second ago – but it was already slipping through her fingers like melted butter.

"No, it's smart." He added, as an afterthought, "Or it would've been if Meredith didn't crack her head, I suppose."

His cold hand flattened against her stomach and Hermione jumped. When had he gotten under her shirt? She couldn't remember, couldn't think, as his arm reached around and drew her to him. Her eyelids fluttered when she felt his surprisingly soft lips at her ear, whispering and ticklish. "So it wasn't my fault at all, you see?"

She wanted to protest and say _yes, _yes it was his fault Meredith was traumatized even if he didn't mean for it to happen, but words dissolved as he breezed his mouth over her neck. Her head automatically craned back, giving up more skin, secretly enjoying those kisses. His hands, suddenly both under her shirt, traced her lower back. Fingers, which would one day be spidery and chalky-white, danced up her spine. Hermione shuddered. "You taste sweet too, like vanilla," he murmured, smirking when she jerked in surprise.

Then the pace changed and his lips were on her throat again, greedily covering every inch of flesh available, and she felt fear as his weight pinned her down. Her heart hammered hard, a nervous staccato against his chest, but she didn't struggle. _Why aren't I shoving him off me? _But why would she want to? _Because this is wrong! _Why was it wrong again?

Riddle's lips covered hers, hand brushing over her cheek, and she stiffened in shock. He'd kissed her. On the lips. The Dark Lord had actually kissed her…_and worse, I think I liked it_.

_I think I want him to do it again._

His eyes met hers, dark and foreboding. "Kiss me," he ordered.

Cautiously, Hermione moved her mouth against his and felt those velvet lips, pressed flush against hers, smirk. It felt foreign, but…good. Not as scary and overwhelming as the meeting of their magic, which hummed around them in an ever-growing bubble, but slower. Better. Even if he was her enemy, even if he was infuriating and unpredictable and dangerous-

He pulled back and she tried to follow him, but he tsked, holding her down. "A condition, Hermione," Riddle said, eying her. "You can't tell anyone about the locket."

She frowned. "I know, I already told you I wouldn't."

"Good – and one more thing." He leaned close again and she couldn't help the anticipation that rolled through her body in a shiver when he got so near. Hermione didn't move, trying to hide it, some part of her trying to convince herself this wasn't right. "You like me better than anyone else, don't you?" he whispered.

_What?_ That was an…odd question. But did she? Absently, Hermione noticed how soft his black hair looked and ran her hand through it. He pulled away. "Well?" he said impatiently.

"Why do you care about that?" she asked cautiously.

"_Do_ _you_?"

Hermione hesitated. "I…suppose I do," she said haltingly, although she could have easily lied and said no. Compared to everyone else she knew here though, Riddle certainly was the most interesting and brilliant, despite being the most confusing. And temperamental.

Even as a child she'd always liked solving puzzles.

Riddle looked satisfied. "Good." Bending down, his mouth covered hers, eating up her next words in a long, slow kiss. "Keep it that way."

Somewhere in Hermione's mind she was disconcerted by these words and that strange glint in his eyes, but now she could hardly register anything other than the sensations going through her lax body and Riddle's sneaky hands. His tongue traced the seam of her lips seekingly.

"_Quiet, Richie! I don't want Tom to wake up and see us,"_ Augusta's voice giggled from outside of the room, followed by the sound of her announcing the password.

Hermione froze and Riddle's weight was off of her in an instant, replaced by a cold draft. He snatched up his wand, waving it, and the lights went out.

She stumbled to her feet and jumped when she felt his hand around hers, swiftly tugging her to the entrance. He hid them behind a wobbly bookshelf moments before Augusta and Richard Hornet stumbled in, howling.

"Shhh! Quick, my room is this way," Augusta hissed through her drunken laughter, muttering an apology when she squashed Richard's foot. Hermione and Tom slipped out behind them, stepping into the hall just before the frame swung shut.

Hermione let out a huge breath of relief. _Oh Merlin, Augusta almost saw me _snogging_Tom Riddle! _she thought, horrified. What was she thinking_? _No, this was all wrong. Sure, she'd never felt that way in her life and his kisses had sent her on a brief trip to cloud nine – but still, _Tom Riddle! _She couldn't, wouldn't…or she really _shouldn't_ do that again…

When Riddle faced her again however, those thoughts were wiped from her mind at the sight of his ruffled dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes. Could she do it again? Did she want to?

Wait a second.

"How did you know that spell?" Hermione demanded.

"I figured it out after seeing you use it in the library, it seemed useful and did come in handy just now," he said, waving his hand absently, and smirked as he took in her equally bedraggled state. "Shall I walk you to the common room?"

Hermione almost said yes, but bit her tongue sharply. She couldn't let those meaningless, hot…wonderful kisses get to her head. _Oh Merlin_. "No thanks," she said, forcing a smile. "I'll be fine on my own."

He nodded, pretending not to see her grimace or the way her fists clenched at her sides – but Tom always saw. "Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" he said casually and she started, surprised. Hogsmeade? She hadn't even thought of Hogsmeade. In fact, that gave her an idea…

"Yes, actually," Hermione said. "Why?"

"Just wondering." He reached out and she tensed, blinking when he freed the lip she'd unconsciously bitten from her teeth with his thumb. She tried not to, but couldn't help but stare at his mouth in return. She remembered how his lips felt, cool and soft as a winter draft.

Now, they curved in a half-smile. "So are you going to stand here staring at me all night?"

Hermione blinked, snapping out of her daze, and cleared her throat, stepping back. "Uh, no. I…I'll be going now." Hastily, she started down the hall the way she'd come, cursing herself for acting like such an idiot.

"Hermione?"

She turned around - more quickly than she would've liked - to find her vinewood wand winking at her from his hold. Embarrassment coursed through her as he flicked his wrist and sent it soaring toward her. She reached up, catching it, and his teeth flashed, two strips of white in the dim corridor. "Will you be going _now_?" he taunted.

Hermione slanted her eyes at him. "Goodnight, Tom," she said with finality.

His soft laugh echoed down the hall, encasing her, although this time she forced herself not to turn around – not even when he said "goodnight, darling" and goosebumps erupted on her skin. No, not even then.

* * *

Hermione lay in bed at 4AM. She refused to think of the kiss – well, _many_ kisses – between her and Riddle last night, or how wonderfully erotic they'd been. She must have drunk spiked pumpkin juice or something. Right?

The emerald hangings were drawn around her bed and the wards up as always. No one in the Slytherin girl dormitory could get past them, except herself of course. Hermione turned on her side, restless. She couldn't sleep and she could not go down to the library to distract herself with books either, not when sunrise was still hours away. She shut her eyes, fingers idly skipping down the front of her nightgown and plucking open buttons on their way. Her own touch didn't elicit any delicious burn below her belly though.

Riddle's had.

Hermione sighed. Ever since the ritual something had been gnawing at her, a primal hunger lodged deep inside that clawed at her insides, rocking her bones whenever she saw that dark glint in Riddle's eyes or when her anger got the best of her. Hermione knew she desired something, but had no idea what it was. All she knew was Riddle had helped ease the ache, the empty hole inside, last night… _Ugh_, there she went thinking about him again! What was wrong with her? How could she be attracted to the man who would one day become a Dark Lord, a murderer? Who already was a killer? That was sick.

_It doesn't feel sick though. _She couldn't help it. He was handsome, mysterious, and compelling in every way. She hated him, yet…she didn't. Was it simply her yearning to learn, to know all, that made her feel this way? To want to know what thoughts whispered in his head? Still, Hermione had to complete the task. Riddle had even given her an idea when he mentioned Hogsmeade and now step four was possible once again. Perhaps getting close to him would help her? Keep your friends close and enemies closer, right?

She smiled at the ludicrousness of it all, laughing to herself. He even recited poetry.

'_I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows,' _he'd said. '_I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones…'_

Hermione fisted her hands in the sheets to keep herself from doing something she knew she'd regret, but the magic was uncontrollable as it sizzled around her, hungry for another dose of Riddle's. Their magic together, she remembered, had felt so unfairly good.

"_I like my body when it is with your body," _she whispered aloud, tasting the words just to see if they sounded as right aloud as they did in her head. "_It is so quite a new thing." _

She dragged her hands down her throat, remembering the butterfly kisses placed there earlier, and closed her eyes. "_Muscles better and nerves more." _ The scent of cedar and smoke bled through her senses. Strange, flimsy whispers hissed through her ears. "…_I like kissing this and that of you."_

And she did. Oh, how Hermione secretly did.

* * *

The students ambled off the thestral-drawn carriages and Hermione hopped off too, the fine dusting of snow that had come last night coming up to her ankles when she landed. Around her Hogsmeade was considerably younger, shinier, and a bit smaller too. The Hog's Head however was in the same place and she headed toward it, drawing her fall cloak tightly about her to keep out the cold. She entered the Hog's Head and several disembodied heads hanging on coarse ropes screeched obscenities at her arrival, cursing more when someone else entered behind her. She headed straight for the back, not realizing it was Dolohov, Crabbe, and Goyle who had come in.

The barman's gaze skipped over Hermione uninterestedly as she strode to the narrow hallway leading to the unisex toilet and employees only door. It was very dim and stinky back here, and Hermione quickly took out Harry's Invisibility Cloak, pulling it over her. There was no Disapparating in Hogwarts, but hopefully this plan would work – even if it was a long shot.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione turned sharply on her heel and vanished from the shop with a noisy "BANG!"

The sensation of being sucked through a tube two sizes too small overtook her for a short instant before her feet made contact with something soft and wet. She opened her eyes to see she had landed in a snow bank on the outskirts of a dense evergreen forest and not twenty feet away were the figures of Dumbledore and Grindelwald, wands up and whirling as they dueled in the center of a small village. Grindelwald's followers, dressed in robes bearing the Deathly Hallows symbol and towering cone-shaped hats, fell back at a wave of Grindelwald's hand. A crowd of villagers scurried into their homes and buildings alike, screaming as spells careened through the air. It was just like the legend, the stories in History of Magic that told of this fateful day, she thought a little dazedly.

Still, she'd barely arrived in time…and what was she going to do now?

Hermione realized how very cold it was at the end of fall in the countryside of Germany when she wriggled out of the three-foot snow heap she'd crash landed in. She took off the Invisibility Cloak, replacing it with a heavier one lined with fur, and put the Cloak in her beaded bag. Now she just needed to get closer.

Silently, she hurried over the wintry brush and frozen vegetation, trying not to be distracted by the stunning array of spells soaring through the air. Many spells she didn't recognize and most of those emitted from Grindelwald's wand – the Elder Wand. The Elder Wand was the core reason the Dumbledore of her time needed his past self to end Grindelwald for good, for if Grindelwald had died instead of being shut up in Nurmengard his tales of the Deathly Hallows would have gone down to hell with him and Voldemort would never have found out about the Elder Wand. However, after Dumbledore's death Voldemort had eventually found Grindelwald, forced the location of the Elder Wand out of him and taken it from Dumbledore's tomb. That was when the Light side truly started to fall, when death tolls rose from hundreds to thousands, and then… Hermione came here. She was to defeat Grindelwald before focusing her attentions on Voldemort's fall, on obtaining all three magical objects that together would create the Master of Death.

Hermione was to eliminate every possible mean of immortality.

And step four, give Dumbledore the Despicable Concoction, would require a little editing and more drastic measures on her part.

Purple flames soared out of Grindelwald's wand and Dumbledore raised his arms, an aqua-blue shield rising up around him and absorbing the Dark curse. As Hermione got closer she heard Grindelwald bark a merry laugh when Dumbledore conjured a majestic ice phoenix that dived toward the Dark wizard, spraying lethal shards of frost all around and stabbing several surrounding Grindelwald followers, who fell back screeching in pain and fright. Grindelwald, however, simply waved his wand and the icy daggers turned into a warm rain shower around him. "Is that all you've got, love?" he taunted. "Come now, Albus! You're holding out on me, as always." His boyish laugh, tainted by an edge of bitterness, echoed through the wood.

Hermione hid behind a wide oak, watching the duel play out through a cluster of knotted branches dotted in frosted berries that looked like white jewels in the sunlight. She held her breath when Dumbledore retaliated with a spell that made the ground tremble and vines jet out of the ground from beneath Grindelwald, twining around his body and snapping at him like hungry jaws. Grindelwald growled, spinning the Elder Wand in a speedy parry, and the vines became stone, shattering into fragments at his feet.

"Too good to use Dark magic, are you?" he snarled, jaunty façade gone. "Let me teach you what true power looks like, Albus… _Conjunctivitus Defodio!" _

Dumbledore looked surprised and in the seconds that the dangerous curse hurdled toward him he performed a complicated wand movement, blue eyes rolling back to the whites as his lips quickly mumbled words Hermione neither knew nor could probably fathom were she close enough to hear them. Suddenly, the green jet of light thundering toward him split into two parts and boomeranged, swinging back toward Grindelwald and turning fiery red an instant before it hit his chest, sweeping through his shield. Hermione had no idea what spell Dumbledore had used, but she could feel his magic vibrating in the air like the aftershocks of an earthquake. It triggered hers and she felt magic shoot over every inch of her body, humming and buzzing in anticipation, itching to be put to use too.

Grindelwald's eyes widened an instant before Dumbledore's spell threw him a clear ten feet through the air. He landed with a heavy thud, still for a few long seconds, but struggled to get up a moment later, arms shaking with effort.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Dumbledore boomed.

Heart pounding, Hermione watched as the Elder Wand flew into her professor's grip. Here was her chance – the future of the Wizarding World's last chance.

She shook a little as she raised her wand. Was she really going to do this? _Dumbledore told me to complete the task at all costs! _her brain reminded her importantly. _The fate of every person who died in the future depends on me, on this. _Grindelwald had to die. The Elder Wand could not come into Voldemort's hands, end of story.

Dumbledore would want her to do this. He'd been willing to sacrifice Harry for slaughter, hadn't he? Why not throw another pig under the knife?

Hermione drew up her hood and rushed forward a second before any of the bystanders could, Stunning an unexpecting Dumbledore from behind. He stiffened and fell face first into the frozen brush. Nonverbally, Hermione cast, _Expelliarmus! _and the Elder Wand soared into her hand. At the sight of her the people who had come out of hiding panicked, scrambling and falling back into chaos within seconds. A woman screamed in German on seeing the disarmed Dumbledore and Grindelwald's followers broke apart, some randomly shooting curses into the crowd and others Disapparating before the Aurors could arrive. Hermione turned to Grindelwald, who had not yet risen and lifted his blonde-grey head at the sound of her footsteps.

"Who are you?" he spat and she was surprised to see blood trickling from his wide mouth, staining the ivory-white snow underneath him bright red. Even more surprising, he was handsome. His golden hair was streaked through with grey and the ends of his sea-blue eyes were wrinkled with laugh lines, but he was still as good-looking as he'd been rumored to be in youth. And evil.

He struggled to see past the strange figure's black hood and when it came close enough shock registered on his features at the sight of long curls and brown eyes. "You're a woman," he said, shocked. "Are you-" he swiped his chapped lips with his tongue. "-the angel of death?"

The angel paused. "Why do you think that?"

"I've heard tales about you," Grindelwald said, eyes wide with wonderment. "You were Death in the Hallows and gave the brothers three magical objects that together can create immortality. If you give them to me, angel, I – _I _can make the world better-"

"Ah, I forgot you were obsessed with those things." A bitter smile curled the angel's lips. "If I give the objects to you, you would bring the wizards to their 'rightful place' above all other magical creatures and Muggles, right?" She sounded sardonic.

"Yes, I will purge this world of sin and rectify us! Please, give them to me," Grindelwald begged, snatching her hand and holding it to his cold lips. She jerked in surprise, but he held on with a surprisingly strong grip. "I'll do anything, I've been looking for them my _entire life. _If you would just have mercy on me, just see-"

The Aurors had arrived and Dumbledore would wake up soon. Hermione couldn't remove herself from Grindelwald's tight lock, but she leveled the Elder Wand on his forehead. He was obviously delirious. "Alright, alright!" she interrupted and Grindelwald stopped his babbling, staring up at her hopefully. Her heart pounded. "C-close your eyes and I'll give them to you, ok?"

His eyes widened and he grinned, like a little boy about to get the present he'd been asking for all year, and obeyed. Hermione forced the guilt crawling up her throat back and reminded herself of all the sick things Grindelwald had done, what he still wanted to do, what he _would _do to her if he knew she wasn't an angel at all but Muggle offspring…

If Dumbledore couldn't kill him, she'd have to.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _ Hermione cast and the magic inside her changed, crackling in the air and shooting out of the Elder Wand in a jet of green light that made Grindewald go limp in the snow. She only hesitated for a split-second before spinning around and Disapparating, the sound of Albus Dumbledore's hollow cry lost on her ears. In her place snow settled.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! I know, there was a lot going on and even info behind the task slipped in somewhere amongst shifty wizards and flashbacks, but I'm hoping you rockstars are okie dokie with it. Grindelwald was killed off quickly, but he's just a small part of Hermione's big (despite foggy) plan! I'm almost afraid to ask... thoughts? In review form? Favorite ice cream flavors? Mine is mint chocolate chip, but on Sundays it's vanilla bean. At least I'm pretty sure it is. Meh, the indecision kills.**


	16. There's A First Time for Everything

**AN: Did I say I love you all? Because I do, so cyber chocolate for everyone. *woohoo!* ****Thank you so much for the reviews! You're all onto something regarding the plotline…and your ice cream flavors of choice are most fascinating. Unfortunately, I've been disconnected from the Internet temporarily (alas, I suffer from Pitiable Gal Who Can't Pay the Cable Bill Syndrome and no, it isn't contagious) and so all my updates until further notice will have to be made via library. There shouldn't be any delay unless someone sets the computer lab on fire, so no worries there… **

**Anyway, happy Tomione reading!**

* * *

"How could you _lose _a seventeen-year old witch, you dumb fucks?"

Tom Riddle hit Dolohov with another slash of flames. Crabbe and Goyle were on the floor, writhing under the force of the Cruciatus Curse. "Well? Answer me," he commanded when Dolohov had stopped jerking in agony like a headless chicken.

"I-I don't know w-what happened to her!" Dolohov's usually deep baritone was a hoarse plea. "One minute she was there and the next she was gone-"

"Was it the Disillusionment Charm?"

"I-I d-don't think so-"

"Stop stammering, idiot," Tom snapped and pressed his foot down on Dolohov's throat, making him choke. "When I let go, you will tell me exactly what you saw. Do you understand?"

Dolohov struggled to draw breath. His face purpled. "…yes, my Lord."

Tom got off him. "Go on."

Dolohov took several large gulps of breath before speaking. "Well, Granger went to the Hog's Head and we followed her in. She went in the back where the toilets are so Crabbe and Goyle grabbed a booth nearby, because we figured she'd come back out, right-"

"Get to the point."

"I-I was watching her and she got something out of her bag, but it was really dark so I couldn't see what." Dolohov started to sweat at the impatience on Voldemort's face. "A-and she just vanished! I don't know how!"

He arched a brow. "Perhaps I'll have a look," Tom said, Stunning Dolohov before he could try to resist. He gazed into his wide, terrified eyes and leveled his wand. "_Leglimens."_

Tom saw inside Dolohov's mind. He leafed through memories, seeing more than one telling fantasy of him and Elphaba Wictz, and brushed those aside until he reached what he wanted. Suddenly, Tom was in the pub in Hogsmeade he'd only seen through memory since that wretched Dumbledore never allowed him to go anywhere off the castle grounds. _This must be the Hog's Head, _he thought, delving deeper in Dolohov's head, who whimpered under the oppressing force of his magic.

He saw Hermione walk through the dingy bar to the back and strained to see what she was doing through Dolohov's poor vision. Just as Dolohov had said, she reached into a bag – it was beaded and very ugly, he noted – and took something out. It was some fabric. A blanket? She put it on and vanished, making Tom blink in surprise. What _was _that? More importantly, where did Hermione go?

Tom released his spell and Dolohov fell to the floor, groaning. "You're all morons," he said, lifting the Cruciatus Curse from Crabbe and Goyle too. "What shall I ever do with you?" he pondered quietly.

"I am so sorry, my Lord. Please forgive me," Crabbe groveled, squealing like a pig when Tom cast a Slicing Hex on his tongue.

"Save your half-arsed apologies for someone who cares enough to listen," he sneered. "Now since you apparently can't carry out the simplest of requests, I'll have to take care of this mess." Tom flicked his wand and the door slammed shut behind him on the way out. Brushing a stray black hair back into place, he strode down the hall and headed to the Slytherin common room. A band of Hufflepuff girls hastily hid something smoking behind their backs, flushing and shooting him lusty looks as he passed.

Tom sighed. These idiots were always disappointing him. Why must he do everything himself?

* * *

She'd taken down two birds with one stone. Grindelwald was dead and Hermione had the Elder Wand, something she hadn't counted on getting until next month. Yesterday, her plan had been a wreck and terribly behind schedule, but now she was far ahead of the task. She just had to destroy the Elder Wand.

Right.

Hermione stared at the wand in her hands thoughtfully. She hadn't been sure whether or not the Killing Curse would work since the castor of Dark spells had to have utterly genuine intentions for it to be successful, but she'd had so much magic there in the midst of the battle that executing the curse had been effortless. Plus, the Elder Wand just seemed to…bend to her, like it was made for her and her only. Casting a spell had never been so easy.

Power had been Dumbledore's weakness in his youth. Was it hers too?

_Well, it won't hurt to hold onto it until I find a place to properly dispose of the thing_, Hermione reasoned. _After all, it might come in handy._

She had just stowed it in the beaded bag under her bed – a temporary residence until she could find a better hiding place – when Elphy suddenly strode in, a teary Rosy Parkinson and Fabia Lynch on her heels. Hermione quickly dropped the mattress, trying to look casual as they came toward her. Taking in their expressions, she did a double take. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"You mean you haven't heard?" Rosy sniffled. "It's Meredith. She just came back from St. Mungo's this morning and they've got her in the hospital wing now. She was attacked!"

"It's just like fifth year," Fabia said darkly.

"Oh relax, drama queens," said Elphy, coming over to Hermione's bed and taking a seat. She fingered the perfectly even ends of her long strawberry-blonde hair, the only outward sign of her unease. "She hasn't woken up yet, so no one knows what happened exactly."

_No one except me, _Hermione couldn't help thinking.

"But Gregovitch found Meredith and says he was sure someone else had been in the classroom with her-"

"Gregovitch is a dim-witted, handicapped halfblood who is so poor he couldn't afford to live in an outhouse," Elphy said sharply, cutting Rosy off. "He probably thought he heard voices and saw a dancing troll, too-"

"Dippet just doesn't want the Ministry here again," Fabia snapped. "He almost got fired last time-"

"This is _not_ like fifth year, so just shut up and stop talking about it!" Elphy shrieked, shocking the girls into silence. She took a deep breath and recomposed herself, closing her eyes briefly. "You know we're not supposed to."

Fabia scowled. "So what? Tom isn't here now, he won't know-"

"Don't Fab," Rosy warned. "Just drop it."

"But I-"

Elphy and Rosy stared her down and the Slytherin reluctantly quieted. Hermione's heart was about to burst out of her chest. _She_ knew what really happened in the Muggle Studies classroom last night, but she'd promised Riddle she would not tell anyone. Riddle, who had all the Slytherins sworn to secrecy and unwilling to speak of the Chamber of the Secrets, even in utmost confidentiality. Voldemort, who she was to keep from immortality.

Now Hermione had to protect him.

"What if Meredith wasn't attacked?" she said, speaking for the first time, and Fabia's fiery gaze flashed to hers. "I mean, she could've left the dance early and gotten lost, right?"

"It's just not like her," Fabia said, shaking her head. "She was really looking forward to the soiree."

"Lots of people were drinking. Maybe she had too much spiked pumpkin juice and tripped on something," Hermione suggested.

Elphy, relieved there was an explanation that did not involve violence or the Chamber of Secrets, agreed readily. "Meredith _is _a light-weight," she said, smiling. "I bet she had one too many Butterbeers."

Rosy giggled. "She probably thought Regulus Black was in that classroom and bumped her head trying to go down on him."

"Did you see her go Hermione?" Fabia said, turning to her. "Everyone else was busy dancing. Maybe you saw something?"

All three girls turned hopeful eyes on Hermione.

"No, I didn't," she said apologetically. "I was talking to Slughorn."

"Oh yes, I remember I saw him go up to you," Elphy muttered, frowning. Her eyes suddenly lit. "Wait! Meredith danced with Tom. I bet he knows something-"

_"No!"_ Hermione shouted.

They stared at her.

She blushed, backtracking. "I mean… Tom and I left the dance early, so he couldn't know anything. He was with me."

Fabia and Rosy gasped in shock. Beside Hermione, Elphy smiled cattily. "You and Tom, huh?" she said smugly. "Alone?"

"We talked."

"Ah, of course," Elphy said meaningfully. "You 'talked.'"

_Riddle so owes me for this, _Hermione thought, glaring at her grinning friend.

"Well, the bitch was probably drunk again," Elphy said resolutely, changing the subject. "Mer does like to get tipsy at functions."

"It still doesn't make sense," Fabia grumbled.

Elphy ignored this and, examining her manicure closely, scowled when she found a chip in the blood-red paint job. "Ugh, my cuticles are horrendous!"

"Why don't we have a girl's night tomorrow?" Rosy said. "Christmas break will be here in a few weeks and after that exams are coming up. It could be fun."

"What about food? Games?"

"I bought sweets at Honeyduke's today," Fabia offered.

"Ooh and my Auntie Helga just sent me a new makeup set!" Rosy chirped, clapping her hands.

"Fine, we'll meet here tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp," Elphy said. Seeing Hermione stand, she looked up. "And where do you think you're going, sneaky witch?" she taunted. "Off to snog a secret beau whose name rhymes with – ahem – _fiddle?"_

"Ha ha, very funny," Hermione said drily."I didn't eat anything actually, I'm going to run to the Great Hall and see if anything is left."

"Do you want us to come with you?" Elphy asked.

"No thanks, I'll probably be back late," Hermione said, already drifting toward the exit. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"We're having girl's night, don't forget!"

"I won't-"

"Oh Hermione, don't bother with the Great Hall. The food will be all cold," Fabia said suddenly, pulling a silver brush through her short bob and glancing at Hermione over her shoulder with a smirk. "Go straight to the kitchens and tickle the pear on the fruit painting. The house elves will give you whatever you want."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks."

With that, she ducked out the door and went downstairs, avoiding eye contact with anyone on her way out. She wasn't in the mood for small talk and she wasn't going to the Great Hall either.

When Hermione arrived at the Room of Requirement she entered the same room she and Riddle had researched essences in. The towering bookshelves reached the ceilings and were crammed with texts, an arrangement of wooly furniture and a cozy armchair with an afghan hanging over the back waited for her. She sighed. _Finally, some peace and quiet. _

She fell asleep in the middle of a book that turned out to have no information whatsoever on essences, but was very helpful in distracting her from guilty thoughts of Gellert Grindelwald and Dumbledore. She was drooling on the armrest when the sound of tapping woke her up.

Hermione opened her eyes to find Tom Riddle's incredibly black orbs staring straight into hers. She gasped, skittering back, and snatched up her wand. The corner of his lip curled in an amused smile at her reaction.

"You look so peaceful asleep, like a little child," he commented, further startling her, and pocketed the yew wand he'd been drumming against his thigh. "I almost didn't wake you up. It was quite entertaining to watch you sleep talk."

"I don't sleep talk!" Hermione protested, but faltered as his words sank in. She lowered her wand. "You were watching me?"

"If I said yes?"

Hermione was about to say something snarky in return, but the comeback died on her lips when memories of the last time she'd seen him rushed into her head unwelcome. His smirk widened. "What?"

"Er, nothing," she said hastily, clearing her throat. He sat back. "How did you know I was here?"

"Your friends said you'd gone to the Great Hall to get supper, but considering you hardly show up for meals in the first place I figured you were lying," Riddle said. "I was right."

"Congratulations," Hermione grumbled.

His eyes, guarded by long straight lashes and obsidian secrets, hardened. He cocked his head. "Aren't we snippy this evening?" he said softly. "Perhaps that has to do with your mysterious whereabouts today?"

_What_? Boggled, she stared at him. He couldn't know she'd left. How did he…? "You mean Hogsmeade?" Hermione replied cautiously.

Riddle tsked. "Don't lie to me, darling, you'll suffer dearly for it," he said, looking genuinely humored by her blatant fib. "Dolohov did see you go into the Hog's Head though, so there's some truth in that. However…he didn't see you come out."

"Dolohov?" Hermione repeated. A second later disbelief, closely followed by anger, coursed through her. "Oh my- did you actually have people _stalking _me?"

"Stalking is a strong word."

Hermione buried her face in her hands. He really was insane. "Why?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe," he said, so earnestly she could have believed him had she not known the horrible things he'd done and what an excellent liar he was. He'd manipulated Meredith into trusting him and look how well _that_ turned out…even if it was an accident. "I keep tabs on those I care about."

Her head whipped up at this. Glaring at him, she scoffed, "You don't care about anyone, Riddle, least of all me."

His jaw clenched. Why was she being so difficult? What did emotions like _caring_ matter for? Couldn't she just answer his questions and shut up about the rest?

"Maybe no one is good enough to be cared for," he replied curtly, trying to control his temper.

"Then why did you have people follow me?" she challenged.

Riddle eyed her, probably contemplating whether to lie or curse her, and surprised Hermione by looking away. He looked frustrated. "You could be good enough," he said, so quietly she hardly heard him at all. His words were like shadows, lost in darkness, only visible in the glare of light. He secretly craved that light.

He wanted to consume all of hers.

"I could…care."

Hermione stayed silent. What was he saying? Was this another ploy, a trick? It could easily have been one, but then he sounded so_…_truthful. _Is he?_

"Is that what you want?" he said, looking up at her. "Someone who cares?"

Hermione stared back at him, wide-eyed. "I…I don't know." At her inadequate reply, his brows creased, making his handsomeness increased tenfold. She averted her eyes, huffing. "I mean _no_, that's not what I want." Not from him. Of course not. Riddle caring for her – that was something a silly schoolgirl would fantasize about and she by no means wanted his cruel affections. He wasn't capable of caring.

How ridiculous.

Despite these thoughts, Hermione watched him curiously and suddenly realized that past his mysterious dark eyes and wry smile Riddle looked exhausted. Without thinking, she said, "Are you tired?"

"No." Hermione rolled her eyes. _Of_ _course_ he would deny it. "I have been looking for you all day though, so if I look it I'm holding you accountable," he added.

"If you're really so curious," she said carefully, "I left Hogsmeade and came back here. I wasn't in the mood to hang out with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise. "So you were hiding in this hole in the wall the entire day?"

She nodded. "I wanted to be alone." At least that part was true. She still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about murdering someone, no matter how despicable or evil they might be. _Murder – _andthat's exactly what she did. There was no sugarcoating it.

She was a murderer, just like Riddle. She could no longer say she was any better than him. They had both killed a person for selfish reasons.

"You're a shitty liar," Riddle said abruptly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him in shock. "How could you be here all day when you were just in the Slytherin common room with Elphaba Wictz and your other friends? When it isn't possible to Disapparate into Hogwarts? I _saw _you disappear without a trace from the Hog's Head using an invisibility cloak, Hermione, so you can forget trying to deceive me."

His face was a breath away. "_Tell the truth," _he hissed.

She kissed him.

Hermione wasn't sure why she did it, except to get him to stop questioning her, from learning the truth, to feel the lips she hadn't been able to stop thinking about since yesterday, to _distract him_. She cupped his face lightly and he blinked in surprise, but his dark eyes slowly shut after a moment. Riddle pulled her the rest of the way out of the chair, arms fastening around her waist when she landed in his lap and painfully tight.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, magic springing free like a lion from its cage, slamming into his and creating a wild whirlwind of electricity that screamed through the air with his. Suddenly, Hermione felt the inexplicable desire to run her hands through that feather-soft black hair and feel Riddle's skin without the obstacle of robes. Their magic twirled and twisted, making the wanton ache below her belly all the more intense, and she shoved away all thoughts of Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Harry Potter, and responsibilities out of her head as she pressed herself harder against his body. That strange, ravenous hunger brewing behind closed doors inside her roared when he bit her lips demandingly, parting them.

His tongue plunged in, licking over every inch, taking over. His hips roughly shoved into hers and at her gasp he grabbed her head, invading her mouth with more bruising force. Pulling back only so she could yank off his robes. Closing in before she could come back to her senses.

Hermione ran her hands down his back as he kissed her, able to feel every contour and flex of bone much better now, and pulled him tighter against her. She couldn't get enough of him. She wanted to mold their bodies together, she wanted this glorious high of magic to last as long as possible. It was _too much, _yet she felt like it would never be enough. _His _magic raced through her veins and over her skin in fiery bursts, visible only to them, and every time he touched her she felt like he was striking a match on her flesh, starting fires all over her body with every kiss and probe of fingers.

Buried under all the lust a part of Hermione screamed _what's happening? _but right now she was past listening to it. Past caring.

She reached between them, trying to get to his shirt so she could feel more skin, but he pulled back, snaking one long finger down her blouse and popping each button until it hung open. She bit her lip, feeling both nervous and excited as his sharp eyes raked over her, taking in every curve and ridge. "Lay down," he ordered.

Strangely, Hermione didn't mind his bossy tone and did.

He leaned back down to kiss her, tongue following suit, and she successfully undid his shirt this time, tracing his lean chest and abdomen. His eyes hooded as he watched and she skimmed her mouth down the graceful arch of his neck, moaning when his fingers dug into her hips painfully. Suddenly, Riddle swiftly grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. His eyes raked over her greedily and she blushed, straining to cover herself. In response his grip tightened.

"You are a sneaky witch, aren't you?" he said softly. "Trying to distract me with a few kisses." Hermione swallowed and his free hand trailed up her stomach, drawing tingly circles. "You should know you'll have to work much harder to get away with this, darling. I don't forgive easily."

Hermione stared at him uncomprehendingly. "I…I don't know what you-"

"Hush, darling. Don't worry." He smiled, but it was not a normal smile. It was edged with a scary hunger that made fear and anticipation sing through her veins in the sweetest crescendo. "We'll start with a few questions and you'll tell me everything I want to know. Then we'll…play."

"Play?"

"Tsk, tsk, you're already breaking the rules and you'll have to pay for it later," he tutted. However, Riddle seemed delighted by this very slip. "I ask the questions, remember?"

Hermione slowly nodded, although she now wondered what the hell she'd gotten herself into - not that she particularly wanted to get out of it.

"Meredith Smith woke up about an hour ago," Riddle began, "Dippet questioned her and she told him she'd drunk too much and got lost, slipping on some potions in a classroom. You did that, didn't you?"

Hermione faltered, hardly even noticing the fingers clasped so fiercely around her wrists had begun to rub circles into them – persuading her to tell him everything. It worked, for even the magic thrumming in the air wanted her to spill her darkest secrets. "I may have tampered with her memory a little…" she said warily.

"Why?"

"I told you I wouldn't tell anyone-"

"But this was before that," he interrupted impatiently. "Before you ever came to the Head's common room."

Hermione flushed, wanting to look away, to hide the feelings she tried so hard to suppress, but Riddle didn't let her. His magic would come down on her like a steel cage if she tried. "I couldn't let you get caught," she threw out quickly. "I didn't want anyone to catch you."

"And you know it was no accident what happened to Meredith, don't you?"

Hermione trembled. "Yes."

She supposed she'd always known it was too good to be true for Riddle to regret, to lament almost killing a girl who had been in his way. She just wanted a reason to be able to kiss him without feeling so bad about it. It was selfish of her, but she couldn't help it, and now that they were practically on the same level, why bother trying to find something that wasn't there? Why not give into desire for a little while? These were thoughts her magic egged on, for it liked very much to feel the power constantly radiating from Riddle, like heat coming off the blazing sun. It wanted to break Dumbledore's rules, to accomplish the task in a different way. She could do it.

Could she?

Triumph glowed in that perfect smile, immaculate and dangerous as the rest of his illusion. "I knew it. You don't care about Meredith at all. You just didn't want me to get in trouble-"

"I didn't want you to _murder_ a person," Hermione said harshly.

Riddle stared at her silently, making her think of a beautiful picture with razor-sharp edges, of thorny roses that at a touch pricked you sharp. She bit her lip. "And now," he said quietly, curving his hand around her neck so gently he might have been embracing a lover instead of making a chokehold, "Are you afraid I'll kill you?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered.

He grinned wolfishly. "Aren't you smart?" Riddle cooed. "I'd be afraid too, if I were you." He let her go and Hermione would have kneaded her sore throat, but her hands were pinned above her head.

"One more question," he said and a thrill of exhilaration raced through him when Hermione squirmed, looking at him nervously. "Are you a virgin?"

"_What?"_

"I think you heard me the first time."

"Y-you can't just ask me that!" Hermione stammered, flustered.

"Of course I can," he said, "I can ask any question I want and you'll answer it, Hermione – because I say so."

"No."

His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"That's the answer!" Hermione said, glaring at him. "_No_, I'm not a virgin."

At this, a strange look passed over Riddle's face and he cocked his head, staring down at her for a long time before speaking again. All he said, however, was "Really?"

She fidgeted. "Well…yes."

Of all things, he looked displeased and glanced away from her, frowning. It'd be too invasive to ask to whom she'd given her virginity to and Tom would then be inclined to track said person down and murder them in a very inhumane manner, so instead of asking, he said, "How was it?"

"I…how was what?"

Riddle smirked. "The _sex_?" he drawled.

"Uh…"

He cocked a brow at her inadequate response. "I take it the experience was unremarkable?"

"Well, er." Hermione flushed, clearing her throat, and Tom noted with pleasure that the pink stain on her cheeks ended halfway down her chest. "I don't really have anything to compare to… er…" At his increasing amusement, her anger sparked and she retorted hotly, "Well, how was it for _you, _hm?"

He shrugged. "I'll tell you when I find out."

Hermione stared at him, stunned. Tom Riddle was a…virgin?

Catching her look, the corner of his lips curved and he kissed her lingeringly. "I do intend to find out, for your information," he said, pulling away and making her stomach flip. "Which reminds me…you still haven't made up for your behavior from earlier, have you?"

Her eyes widened. "I don't-"

"It's simple. You'll do exactly as I say and won't ask any questions," Riddle said, sitting back and finally releasing her. She rubbed the purpling marks on her wrists. "Do you understand?"

Hermione's eyes warred between him and the door out of the Room of Requirement. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he snatched up her chin and forced her to look him dead on. "You don't want to leave, trust me," he said softly, "and if you try to run you're going to be hurt very badly."

She stiffened and his hands coursed down her sides like running water, melting a little more of her rationality with each passing second. Her eyelids fluttered. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

Transfixed as Eve is by the serpent, Hermione shook her head.

"And you'll listen to me."

"Yes," she said, shivering as his lips ran down her neck.

"Good girl," he breathed. "Now kiss me."

Gently, she put her lips on his and gave him a sweet brush, licking her mouth as she pulled away. It was easier than she thought it would be to do as Riddle said and the approval in his gaze gave her a rush of satisfaction, too. She didn't feel nearly as bad about any of this as she should have…

"Again," he commanded. "Longer."

When Hermione kissed him this time his hands came up to hold her head firmly in place and he parted her mouth with his, staring directly into her eyes as he _blew _a stream of his magic down her windpipe. Her eyes rolled back as it swept through her like a sugar rush, making the world spin for a wild, frightening minute that seemed to last forever.

It was euphoric.

"More," she gasped, lips colder and tingling from numbness when he stopped. Her body felt heavier without Riddle's magic filling it. "More, please."

He traced the crescents under her eyes, delighted by the raw hunger he saw in Hermione's expression. It would only be a little while longer until she was his completely. "You can have more," he murmured, "but you'll have to give me some too."

She blinked. "You mean, give you my…magic?"

"Just a little," he said, trailing his fingers down her arm. She was shocked to find even his touch felt more electrifying than usual. "Or a lot, it's your choice."

"Will it hurt?" she said cautiously and Riddle laughed, the foreign sound rolling off his lips like a haunting overture.

"Not at all. It will feel good, in fact. The more you give me the more...poignant the sensations."

"How do I do it?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I'll show you." He inched closer and she copied his movements, until their lips were flushed together. This kiss felt more intimate than any other. "I'll open my mouth," he told her, "and you'll concentrate on gathering your magic until you can literally taste it buzzing on your tongue, then you simply…let it out."

"Okay," Hermione whispered, although she wasn't sure she could do it on the first try. What if she messed up?

Riddle parted his lips. She squeezed her eyes shut and called on the energy racing through her like an athlete training for the marathon, forcing it to calm and gather. It was similar to summoning the Founder's Magic, except easier because it came from within herself and not the school grounds. She focused on that throbbing power and just like Riddle said, she _tasted _it. It tasted of cedar and smoke, blood and sunshine, fire and ice, the spring tide and moonlight – ultimately, it was almost as delicious as Riddle's magic.

Softly, she blew.

At the first lick of her magic, Riddle readily sealed their lips until she thought he might never pull away, eating her magic up and letting it whisper through his senses, strengthening him. It ended too soon and roughly, he said, "More?"

"More," Hermione agreed.

A gust of his magic plowed through her in the next second, consuming, and the room seemed to turn inside out around them. She did not have to struggle to hold all of that thrumming power in, for it seeped into her very chemistry, all too eager to be inside her. Fingers shaking, she clawed Riddle closer, needing more, somehow even hungrier than before.

"Don't be greedy, darling," he scolded, but there was a smile in his voice. "Only a little more or else one of us will lose consciousness."

She moaned, sending another ripple of magic his way, and it zapped through him like a bolt of lightning. They both went rigid and time _slowed_ _down_, the ceiling lights flickering in time with their suddenly sluggish heartbeats, breaths loud in the deafening silence, eyes glazed and hooded. Hermione's head fell back and his eyes latched onto her hair; he could see every single strand of it tangling, bouncing, shadows subtly shifting with the light and swinging behind her shoulders…

Then time caught up with them.

Hermione didn't move – she didn't really think she could, her entire body felt like it had been shot with a triple dose of Novocain – and beside her Riddle was bathing in the aftereffects. Lazily, he laid back and folded his arms behind his head. He looked like sin in sex form.

"What the hell was that?" Hermione mumbled.

"Better than your first time."

She would've slapped him if she could lift her arms.

He glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall and sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It's past curfew," Riddle muttered. "We have to leave."

"Leave? I can hardly move," Hermione said disbelievingly.

"Then I'll drag you back to your dormitory," he quipped and leaned down, swiping up his shirt. A broad expanse of fair skin and taut shoulder blades disappeared underneath it.

"Did we just get magically high?" Hermione wondered aloud, sitting up.

He scoffed. "Addicts wish they could get that kind of rush off wiz crack." And what _they'd_ done was much more than a druggie's trip to cloud nine.

"Well then, what was it?" she demanded.

"I think it has slipped your little mind that you don't get to ask questions, so I'm not inclined to answer you," Riddle said, turning to her with her shirt in his hands. He held it as she slid her arms into the sleeves. "However, I can tell you it won't fry any of your brain cells."

He swiftly buttoned her shirt as she contemplated this, smoothing out the creases and folds in a very OCD fashion. Hermione bit her lip. Hesitantly, she said, "Can we, um, do it again?"

He quirked a brow.

"You know," she hedged, embarrassed, "share."

"That's what you call it? Sharing?" he said, an indiscernible smile on his lips.

"Well, you won't tell me what it really is so-"

"The answer is yes," he interrupted. "We'll…_share_."

Hermione nodded and flicked the golden Head Boy badge on his robes, avoiding his eyes. In turn he played with her hair. The contact strangely…calmed her.

"I've figured out what you want," he said suddenly.

"Oh really?" she teased. "And what is that?"

He smirked. "Me."

Hermione had been preparing to immediately disagree, but his answer made her freeze. She, want Tom Riddle? That was… _preposterous, wrong_! her brain automatically supplied, but no, this was a lie – and Hermione really wasn't a very good liar.

He was right. No, more than right, for she liked him very much and had started desiring him long before tonight, before he even kissed her. Was it because of his corruption? His mental instability? Or was it just his physical allure? Maybe it was all three, or perhaps there was more to Tom Riddle than she gave him credit for and it was this that called to the very chemistry of her being, drawing her to him like a moth to a flame.

Or maybe it was that darkness in his eyes.

But what of the task? Then again...maybe Dumbledore had been wrong and Tom Riddle wasn't meaningless evil. Maybe she could do more than prevent his immortality. What if _she _could bring out that unseen side of Riddle he kept so viciously guarded? What if there was another way to save the Wizarding World, a different task?

What would Dumbledore do?

Was Dumbledore's opinion even the right one anymore?

She needed to think.

They stepped out of the Room of Requirement and into the dim corridor, which was dead silent except for the distant sound of patrolling Prefects' footsteps and snoring portraits. "Try not to get caught sneaking through the halls, will you?" Riddle said.

"Oh please, I've never been caught before," Hermione sniffed.

He chuckled. "Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

She eyed him thoughtfully, her mind a millions miles away from Gregovitch and possible detention. A first time for everything? How fitting.

"Yes," she finally said. "I suppose there is."

* * *

On Sunday morning Hermione skipped breakfast. She had heard exactly what the Daily Prophet – and every other source of journalism on the planet – was headlining: _Dumbledore defeats Grindelwald! _and on page two, paragraph three: _Mysterious Cloaked Figure ends notorious mass murderer, Gellert Grindelwald, for good. _

Hermione couldn't face a hall of students buzzing over the news that would go down in history, not when Meredith was still in the infirmary, not when _she _was the Mysterious Cloaked Figure who murdered a person and snogged Tom Riddle hours later. Grindelwald had been an evil person, but a person nonetheless – and she was a killer. Ever since she'd come to the past the task had been in shambles, but what if all of that was for a reason? What if it needed to be reevaluated, reconsidered? What if Dumbledore didn't know it all?

She ascended the steep, spiraling staircase and reached the top of the Astronomy Tower out of breath, although the freshness in the air soon appeased her. Staring up past the round underside of the roofing spire into the sky, a spinning kaleidoscope of sunlight and white flurries, she was reminded of the inside of a cotton candy machine. But what did a pretty blizzard matter when the future was so bleak, so grey?

"_When I dream, I dream of your lips._  
_When I dream, I dream of your kiss…"_

Placebo was one of her favorite Muggle bands and Hermione's family had loved to hear her sing for them on holidays and at little gatherings. They'd even gone so far as to get her into singing lessons, although those had diminished at the end of her sixth year when she and Ron determined to leave with Harry to help him find Voldemort's Horcruxes. When Hermione Obliviated her family of her existence she'd had no reason to sing, not anymore… not until now.

Hermione's words turned into silence. Her heart felt heavy. She used to picture Ron's face when she sang those lyrics – at least before that awful Gryffindor house party – but now she envisioned someone very different. He had wavy hair and eyes black as onyx, a soul even darker, a yawning pit where his heart should have been. Then again, there were many things she didn't know about Riddle. She'd always assumed the worst of the young Dark Lord, but what if everything wasn't what it seemed? What if she didn't know anything at all? What if Dumbledore was _wrong_? That changed everything.

It occurred to Hermione that it was possible to recover all the magical objects of death, destroy them, and divert Tom Riddle from the destruction of his soul without following the rules. It would even be easier to do it if she were close to him, if she could keep an eye on him without anyone becoming suspicious, the least of all Voldemort himself.

Maybe it was time she found out who Tom Riddle really was.

A black cat flitted over the white fields hundreds of feet below and Hermione started, straining to see it streak through the snow shower. Her thoughts raced. Was it a death omen? An Animagus? Or just a mangy black cat? More importantly, where was it going?

But within seconds the cat had vanished into the blizzard in a flurry of knotted fur and Hermione was left alone in the cold, wondering if it had ever been there at all.

* * *

**AN: _Wooooo. _*fans self* Things got a little racy there, huh? Of course, this is a M-rated fic, and I don't know about you, but Tom Riddle can trap me in the Room of Requirement anytime... death threats or not.**

**Well, moving on, please review and share your thoughts! **


	17. A Thirst for Love Divine

**AN: A fair warning, the smut scenes are going to be graphic so if you're not into that thanks for stopping by, but turn your butt around pronto! ****If you are into it… grab a vibrator. *cackles like Bellatrix on crack* P.S. I had way too much fun writing this chapter and hope you enjoy reading it! Much thanks to those who took the time to give me feedback, including story alerts/followers/etc – I really appreciate you all and am extremely grateful for your support. **

_**There's no place like FF, Aunty Em!**_** *tap dances in ruby slippers***

* * *

Hermione entered the girl's dormitory to find a massive, rainbow tarp of silk scarves. They were crudely sewn together and sectioned off the back corner of the dorm. Behind it silhouettes emitting low giggles and whispers moved, as well as the outline of what she guessed was a record player. Music could be heard from the opposite side.

The other Slytherins were staring enviously at the tent when Elphy's head suddenly poked around the edge. Catching sight of Hermione, she grinned and waved her over. "Come on!" she called. "We've been waiting for you for the last twenty minutes. Now we can finally start!"

What Elphy meant by start, Hermione had no idea, but she made her way over to the tent, ignoring all the jealous glares girls she'd never meant sent her and gratefully slipping behind the Transfigured scarf curtain. Her eyes widened on finding Fabia Lynch, Rosy Parkinson, Alecto Carrow and Elizabeth Fletcher inside as well as Elphy.

"Is this, er, girl's night?" she asked, confused.

"Yes, welcome one and all, blah blah blah," Elphy said, patting the frilly cushion she'd saved for Hermione beside her. Hermione sat, realizing everyone else also perched on fancy pouffes, and the floor was covered in green comforters with silver trim and pillows that had been kidnapped from nearby beds. Off to the side Alecto Carrow was replacing a record.

"Those two tramps were lucky to be invited," Elphy muttered under her breath, tossing a careless glance over her shoulder at the newcomers. Rosy and Fabia snickered. Elizabeth, who had overheard, flushed bright red.

"I want to turn the music up!" Fabia whined. "I wish those stupid babies out there wouldn't rat us out to Sluggy."

"Have you tried a Silencing Charm?" said Hermione.

She frowned and scratched her head. "Well, none of us know how…"

"I've got it." Hermione waved her wand, casting a nonverbal _Muffliato! _and Rosy sent Elizabeth outside to do a sound check. Elphy cranked up the music and after a minute Elizabeth returned, confirming she hadn't heard anything. The Slytherins beamed at Hermione in admiration.

"Nice job, princess," Elphy said, winking at her. "You'll have to teach me that spell sometime." She clapped her hands for attention. "Now, since everyone is here we can get to the good part. Elizabeth, Alecto, you two are in charge of getting the bottle of Firewhiskey from Dippet's liquor cabinet-"

"But Elvy, what iv we're caught!" Alecto cried.

"That's your problem, not ours, and it's _El-pha-ba _to you," Elphy sneered. Continuing, she said, "The password to his office is _Peter Rabbit _and everyone knows he keeps his alcohol stash under his desk in a trunk marked 'keepsakes.' It should be easy enough to break into."

Alecto looked nervous, but Elizabeth was already on her feet, determined to win her way into their good graces. "Come on, Alecto. Let's go," she said bravely and marched out of the tent. Alecto slinked after her, shoulders slumped sulkily.

Once they were gone Fabia grabbed the box of chocolates she had hidden in her pillowcase, waggling it temptingly. "Excellent work, Elphy," she laughed. "I thought they would never leave."

"You know Elizabeth would have eaten this entire box in two seconds," Rosy sniffed.

"I know! Did you see her muffin-top in that skirt? Time to get a bigger dress size, Fletcher," Fabia cackled, turning to Elphy. "Didn't you say you brought something?" she said, passing the half-empty case of chocolates to Hermione. She only took one, resisting the urge to dump the rest on Fabia's head.

"Oh yes, here it is." Elphy produced a six-pack of Butterbeers, which clinked merrily against each other and shone bright gold as she dangled them in the lamplight. "Who wants to go first?"

"Ooh me!" Rosy squealed, scurrying forward.

"Say Hermione, how about you? Did you bring anything?" Fabia said and Hermione started, surprised the girl was addressing her.

"Er, no actually," Hermione muttered awkwardly. "I didn't know I should have-"

"It's fine, Hermione. No one asked you to," Elphy interrupting, sending Fabia a withering glare. Fabia rolled her eyes and popped open a Butterbeer, looking away. "Don't let anyone try and degrade you," she whispered in Hermione's ear. "If you do, these girls will walk all over you in a heartbeat. Show them you're boss."

"Right," Hermione said, but Elphy's words bewildered her. Show them she was boss? How was she supposed to do that? And who said she was boss anyway?

Fabia and Rosy had already opened their Butterbeers. Hermione uncorked the metal lid on hers, sipping the syrup-sweet liquid down sparingly. She put it down, licking her lips. "Now what?"

"Well, I did mention getting a new makeup kit, didn't I?" Rosy giggled, unsticking her mouth from the bottle lip with a loud smack. Fabia hiccupped beside her. "Take a look at this," she said, rifling through her schoolbag and knocking a few books around before she surfaced with a fluorescent-pink drawstring purse that jingled with what Hermione assumed was a boatload of expensive makeup.

Ceremoniously, Rosy flicked her wand through the knot on the bag and all at once the contents spilled onto the cushiony floor in a colorful array of brushes, pigments, lipstick, foundations, a bronze eyelash curler, mascaras, and a bunch of other utensils Hermione didn't know the names of. She watched with interest as Elphy snatched up a pointy stick and read the label, smiling felinely a moment later. "I love this brand!" she exclaimed, whipping around to face Hermione. "This color will look great on you. We'll try cat eyes."

"Er, I've never worn makeup before," Hermione hedged, inching away from the sharp-tipped 'eyeliner' stick. "It looks dangerous."

The Slytherins burst into laughter at this. "Don't worry, Hermione. Elphy is great with makeup," Rosy assured.

"Oh yes," Fabia agreed. "She'll make you look good."

"Here, close your eyes," Elphy said, taking the cap off the eyeliner to reveal an even _pointier _end underneath. Oh Merlin. Hermione reluctantly did so, gulping. "No, don't squeeze them! You'll make it all wrinkly," her friend growled, swatting her cheek with the surprisingly cold end of a blush brush. "Relax, will you?"

Relax? How? She was going to stab her in the eye! Elphy wasn't going to let off anytime soon, however, so Hermione tried to do as she asked. She stiffened at the sound of a pop, coming from whatever the hell Elphy was holding, and then something wet was licking across her lash line. She cringed and Elphy shrieked in outrage, grabbing her. "Don't you dare move an inch! You'll mess it all up," she hissed. "Now stay still before I _Stun_ you."

"What is that?" Hermione whimpered.

"Liquid eyeliner," Elphy explained and she felt the wet tip flick in a neat finish at the end of her eyelids. Elphy pulled away and Hermione started to open her eyes, but hastily re-closed them when the Slytherin barked, "NO! It's not dry yet! Do you _want_ to look like a raccoon?"

"Geez," Hermione grumbled. Fabia and Rosy giggled from behind their face masks, which were seaweed green and made them look like some sort of witch-Merpeople hybrids from the Black Lake.

After Elphy had painstakingly applied eye shadow, mascara, lipstick a shade of pink so deep it border lined burgundy, and 'a hint of blush' Hermione was finally allowed to see again. When she opened her eyes she found Fabia and Rosy less than two inches away from her face, staring at her with huge grins. Elphy smirked behind them.

"I can hardly recognize you," Rosy breathed.

"How did you get her eyes to look so smoky?" Fabia said, pouting. "You have to do my makeup next time!"

"Yes, yes, Fab. All in good time." Elphy flipped her strawberry-blonde hair and sat down next to what Rosy reverently called 'the new Hermione.' "Where the hell are Alexis and Elizabeth?" she said irritably. "I want to get a buzz on."

"They should be back soon, they left thirty minutes ago," Rosy said with a shrug. "Do you want to do manicures?"

"Yes please." Elphy stuck her hands out for all the girls to see. "Look at my cuticles, they've gone – uh, what's that word-?"

"Feral?" Hermione suggested.

Elphy shot her a pretty smile, which was further beautified by the gloss on her lips and kohl-lined green eyes. "You're so smart, Hermione," she cooed. "Our little dictionary."

"Use this grey," Fabia said, shaking a nail polish bottle and passing it to Hermione. "It will match your eyeshadow."

Another twenty minutes later, Hermione's chipping nails had been filed, buffed, and painted charcoal grey. She could hardly believe it, but she was actually…enjoying herself! Alecto and Elizabeth had returned looking scared out of their wits, but victorious and with Dippet's Firewhiskey in their possession. Now it was going around their little circle and Alecto, who was on her third Butterbeer and suffering from a severe sugar rush, was hopping in her seat as they played truth or dare. Fabia had just chickened out on another truth and shimmied out of her stockings as truth or dare protocol called for, flinging them at Hermione, who laughed and sent them up to join the scarf-curtain with a flick of her wand.

"No fair," Fabia cried. "I can't reach that high!"

"Elphy, truth or dare?" Rosy said.

Elphy took a large swig of Firewhiskey. "Truth."

"OK, let me think." Rosy bit her lip, attempting and failing to repress giggles. "Have you ever kissed a…a _lady_?"

"Hmmm," Elphy pondered, tracing a newly-manicured nail around the lip of Dippet's bottle in thought and ignoring Alecto and Elizabeth's girlish chitters. "Why yes, yes I have."

"Elphaba Wictz!" Fabia gasped.

"Lor' love a duck! Who was it?" Alecto shouted too loudly.

"I'm not inclined to answer more than one question," Elphy sang, smiling secretly.

"Oh come on," Rosy groaned. "At least tell us how many times!"

"Too many to count," Elphy whispered seriously and the girls stared at her in shock for a minute, then fell into fits of laughter.

Hermione received the Firewhiskey next and drank deeply at encouragement from the others before pulling away with a huge burp. Everyone fell into another round of hysterics at her belch and blushing, she mumbled, "Lizzy, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Ha, wrong answer," Elphy snorted and leaned in to Hermione, nearly falling on her. "Think of something good!" she whispered, sniggering.

"Erm…" Hermione bit her lip, thinking, and the girls watched her intently. "OK, I dare you to ask Professor Slughorn to take you to Madame Puddifoot's for the next trip to Hogsmeade when you have Potions tomorrow."

They stared at her. She frowned. Was her dare that pathetic?

"Oh brilliant!" Fabia roared, snickering at the look of dread on Elizabeth's face. "Wait until Monday, I can't wait to see the look on Sluggy's face. HA!"

Alecto clapped Elizabeth on the back, looking sympathetic. "Just stick to truth next time, eh?"

Thirty minutes later, the Firewhiskey bottle lay empty and forgotten on the ground until Rosy kicked it under a random bed in a clumsy spin, tripping and landing in a pile of discarded candy wrappers. She laughed hysterically for ten minutes straight and Fabia, Alecto, and Elizabeth skipped around her in a hand-linked chain, singing Ring around the Posies at the top of their lungs. Suddenly, the record player started _Green Eyes _and Fabia cried, "Elphy, it's your sooonnng!"

A silk scarf was suddenly thrown over Hermione's head and she turned around to see Elphy on the other end of it, sauntering toward her. Behind them the girls started to sing along, bowing and curtsying to each other before breaking off into couples. Elphy took her hands and pulled her forward, throwing her arms around Hermione's shoulders and starting a clumsy waltz with her.

"I don't know the name of this song, but I really love it, even if it is Muggle," Elphy slurred, snickering when Hermione accidentally stepped on one of Rosy's records and snapped it in half. "Oh my- Rosy is going to have your head when she finds out!"

"Don't you dare tell her," Hermione said, baring her teeth threateningly. A few feet away Fabia almost dropped Rosy flat on her arse when they dipped at the same time.

"I won't if you sing with me." Elphy batted her lashes. "Please?"

"Oh I don't know…"

"_Well, Green Eyes with their soft lights  
Your eyes that promise sweet nights  
Bring to my soul a longing,  
A thirst for love divine. _

"_In dreams I seem to hold you, to find you and enfold you.  
Our lips meet and our hearts, too, with a thrill so sublime," _Elphy began, voice cracking on a high note. "Now you go!"

The other girls, who had gathered around Hermione and Elphy in a circle on the floor, laughed uproariously. When Hermione chimed in they hushed to giggles.

"_Those cool and limpid Green Eyes.  
A pool wherein my love lies  
So deep that in my searching for happiness  
_ _I fear that they will ever haunt me.  
All through my life they'll taunt me,  
But will they ever want me?"_

Everyone burst out the final line. _"Green Eyes, I love you!"_

Elphy and Hermione joined the circle of girls, sitting down. Rosy had a stupid grin on her face and was still humming. "Oh Hermione, what a lovely voice you have," she complimented, eyes a little unfocused.

"Elphy, truth or dare?" Fabia asked.

"Dare!"

"If you say so," the Slytherin sang, twirling a Butterbeer cap around her fingers. "OK, my little green-eyed sapphist, I dare you to kiss…" She looked around the five of them, weighing her options, and everyone inched back. She grinned evilly. "_Hermione Granger_."

Elphy smirked and turned to Hermione, who was gaping at Fabia in shock. She looked at Elphy and couldn't help but laugh as the witch crawled toward her, swinging her hips in an exaggeratedly voluptuous manner. When she was close enough she slung her arms across Hermione's neck and the girls erupted into giggles, scurrying forward to watch.

"Well, I don't want to smudge her lipstick," Elphy teased.

Alecto squealed, covering her eyes. "Gawdon Bennet, I can't watch!"

"Oh come on, just do it!" Rosy shouted.

Elphy smelled of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer, Hermione realized when she leaned in close. The girls quieted as their lips met. Elphy broke the silence, pretending to moan "Oh Hermione, it's too much!" and pulled away, resulting in the hyena-like laughter that immediately followed from everyone else.

"You taste like vanilla icing," Elphy said, waggling her perfectly waxed brows. "Can I have one more taste?"

"Oh Elphy, get off her," Rosy laughed, shoving the witch off Hermione's lap and pointing at Hermione. "You, truth or dare?"

"Eh…truth?"

"Did you like kissing Elphy?"

"Chicken," Hermione replied curtly and Alecto started howling, earning a smack over the head from Elphy.

"OK, your punishment for chickening out is…" Rosy tapped her lip, thinking, and Elizabeth chimed in, "You have to switch underwear with Fabia!"

"Ew, gross," Fabia sneered.

Elizabeth blushed, but Rosy said, "No, no, she's onto something!"

"Um, I didn't agree to this," Fabia interjected. "My knickers are staying on _moi."_

Rosy rolled her eyes. "Fine, put Elphy's garter belt on, Hermione," she amended.

Garter belt? "Please tell me you don't wear a thong, too," Hermione said warily, turning to Elphy, and the others laughed. But she was serious.

"Lucky for your sorry eyes, I'm wearing proper knickers today," Elphy teased and led the way out of the tent, hopping over empty Butterbeer bottles and a spilled cup of powder. "Be right back, ladies!"

It was silent except for gentle snoring in the girl's dormitory and Hermione couldn't stop chuckling as they made their way to the bathroom. "Take off your stockings," Elphy said once they were inside and both girls did, until they were down to bare legs. Hermione put on Elphy's lacy number and heard the witch herself snicker as she watched. "Nice granny panties, princess."

"They're not granny, they're cotton!"

"Whatever you say…"

Hermione reached for her stockings, but Elphy stopped her. "Uh-uh! Keep those off. We'll need to prove you didn't cheat."

"Oh fine," she grumbled, feeling self-conscious as she tugged her skirt down and Elphy picked at her flawless nails. "How do I look?"

"Very nice," Elphy said, looking her over. She paused. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you like it?"

Hermione blinked. "Like what?"

Elphy shrugged. "Kissing me." She smiled, twirling a lock of her hair. "I thought it was nice, personally."

"Oh yes, very nice," she chuckled. Elphy grinned and danced another step toward her, clasping their hands.

"You know," Elphy began. "I hate it when we fight and I've been quite lonely since my sweetheart stopped talking to me." Hermione nodded empathetically. "I'm sorry for what I said, but…you could be my sweetheart again, you know, if you forgave me."

"I could?"

"Of course! We'll be more careful this time, Mer. Your parents won't catch us again."

"Hm…" Hermione, who wasn't really paying attention, eyed her. "Want to try something?"

"Drugs?" Elphy said curiously.

"Better," she said, smiling, "but you have to come closer."

Elphy giggled and did, waiting patiently as Hermione summoned her magic. The witch didn't notice anything, not even when Hermione's energy thrummed strong and powerful in the air, closing in around them like a thunderous storm on the horizon. Hermione cupped Elphy's face. "Breathe in when I tell you to, OK?"

"Mm hm."

Concentrating, Hermione gathered her magic until it was vibrating on the back of her tongue, eager to be put to use. "Go!" she whispered and Elphy obediently took a deep breath as she blew her magic toward her, a breeze of energy that dived into the Slytherin without question.

Elphy's eyes suddenly flew open and she stumbled back, scratching her throat. "Wh-what is that?"

"Magic, of course," Hermione laughed. "How does it feel?"

Elphy fainted.

Hermione stared at the crumpled Slytherin, surprised. Whoops. Maybe she didn't do it right? _At least she won't remember this in the morning, _she thought, biting back a giggle. Why was everything so funny? No matter. Hermione pulled her upright, muttering a Rejuvenation Spell through her chuckles.

A second later Elphy awakened. Bewildered, she mumbled, "What are we doing in here?"

"Going back to the party," Hermione said, pocketing her wand. "Ready to go?"

"Well, I'm not going to spend the night in the loo, now am I?" Elphy quipped with a sly smile.

They were exiting the lavatory when Elphy suddenly stumbled to a halt with a horrified squeal, making Hermione bump into her. "What is it?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes to see over the girl's tall height, and also shrieked at the sight of Tom Riddle staring at the bedraggled girls in a mixture of shock and amusement.

"Cover your eyes, Tom!" Elphy yowled. "We are indisposed!"

Riddle rolled his eyes, but looked away as requested. "I apologize for the interruption, Elphaba," he said smoothly. "I came for Miss Granger. Would you excuse us?" He glanced at the witch in question over Elphy's shoulder and quirked a brow on seeing her hastily pulling at her skirt.

"Came for Hermione? What on earth for?" Elphy retorted, jutting out her hip.

In reply Riddle cooly said, "Do I need to report your being awake after hours to Headmaster Dippet, Miss Wictz?"

Elphy's sneaky grin dropped. "See you later, 'Mione," she grumbled.

Once she had gone back to the girl's dormitory Hermione turned to Riddle, crossing her arms over her chest - for she was trying to distract his gaze from the garter belt peeking out below her skirt – and said, "Did you need something?"

He scrutinized her. "Actually, I thought I'd stop by to save you from any impending boredom. However, it seems you're having plenty of fun without me...?"

"It's, um, girl's night," Hermione explained, removing the feather boa that had somehow ended up wrapped around her waist like a belt. "How did you even get up here?"

"I have my ways," he replied evasively. "Come, we'll go to the Room of Requirement." He held out his arm – she looked a little dizzy – and Hermione took it without question, letting him lead her down the staircase and out of the common room.

"What time is it?" she asked in a hush after he had cast Disillusionment Charms on them.

"About eleven o' clock," Riddle responded and if Hermione hadn't been so close to him she wouldn't have heard him at all, for both his body and voice were nearly lost in the darkness of Hogwarts at nighttime. Her heart beat fast with excitement. "What were you thinking getting drunk on a Sunday night anyway?"

"How do you know I'm drunk?" she demanded.

"You stink of Firewhiskey," he said drily, "and you tripped six times down the last hall."

Well, he had her there… Hermione bit her lip. "You think I stink?"

"The scent won't kill me. Is this your first time drinking?"

She hiccupped. "Meh, maybe."

"Brilliant." Riddle sighed and left her in the middle of the corridor, walking back and forth three times before rejoining her, somehow finding her despite the fact she was invisible. He took them through the conjured door and they arrived in what Hermione had started to affectionately call the Book Room. Not very creative, but she'd never been that imaginative. She was book-smart, not inventive.

"What are you babbling about?" Riddle asked and she shut up. Oh shit, she'd been talking out loud?

"Sit down," he added, lifting their Disillusionment Charms. He took off his robes, sending them across the room where they folded themselves and landed on an end table next to an ugly lamp. It was a miniature statue of a troll in a tutu that held the light bulb in his mouth and lampshade with his extended hand.

Tom lay down next to her – when had he become Tom? She didn't know, nor did she care – and pulled a coarse afghan off the back of the couch, throwing it over them before he sighed, sticking one arm behind his head and lazily dragging his other hand through her hair. She hummed contentedly.

"Did you just purr?"

"No, I _hummed _in satisfaction," Hermione corrected, but her words were a mumble of gibberish because her face was smooshed against his abdomen. She pulled back. "There is a distinct difference between the two."

"Of course there is."

She nipped his hand when it came down to pet her again and he yanked it back, narrowing his eyes at her. "Now you bite, too? What are you, a temperamental housecat?"

"I prefer the term _lioness."_

"You're much more fun drunk."

"I'm going to remember that," she declared waspishly, "and resent you for it."

"You'll forgive me when I cure you of your horrible hangover tomorrow morning."

Hermione made a face. "I do not look forward to awaking."

"Then don't go to sleep," he suggested.

"Aren't you full of bright ideas today?"

"Technically, it's nighttime."

She rolled her eyes. "And they call me a know-it-all."

"Your friends just haven't met me yet," Tom said, grinning wickedly, and she suddenly noticed how white his teeth were. Had they always been like that? _He should smile more often, it makes him so much prettier, _she thought bizarrely and traced his lips with the tip of her finger, transfixed.

"So I'm pretty, too?" he said smugly.

"Do me a favor and forget I said that," she responded and he sniggered, mouth opening in a short laugh. She slipped her thumb in, wanting to feel his tongue, and he started. His eyes met hers and a smirk curled his lips as his tongue wrapped around the digit sensuously, sucking. Her breathing went shallow.

"Tom, are you really a virgin?" she breathed and he pulled back, glaring at her.

"Are you planning to tell the entire school?"

She looked affronted. "No, of course not! I'm just…surprised."

Exasperated, he said, "Well, it's not as if I'm completely inexperienced, Hermione."

"Oh." She frowned. "Really?"

"I've…kissed girls," he muttered, staring at a chip in the wooden floor intensely. Hermione perked up.

"That's it?"

He glared at her.

"I mean, it's nice. That you're saving it," she amended kindly.

"Stop talking."

Well, if he wanted her to.

He quirked a brow. "Yes, I do."

"What did you come get me for anyway? I was having fun," she grumbled. "Was there something you had to tell me?"

"Not exactly." His dark eyes explored her face before dropping further, raking over her wrinkled shirt and zeroing in on the black garter belt poking out from under her hiked–up skirt.

"It's Elphy's," she blurted out and he blinked at her, bemused. "I mean, we were playing truth or dare and Rosy dared me to put it on so we…uh...went to the loo and I did. Then you found us, of course." Hermione didn't think it was a good idea to tell him the part where Elphy fainted, so she kept this to herself. Yes, better not to tell him that.

"Ah, so that's why you look so different," Tom said, nodding. He ran a finger along the edge of her cheekbone, which looked much sharper, experimentally. "You've been Elphy-fied."

She stared at him hesitantly. "Do you like it?"

"I'd like you better with your clothes off."

"Pig."

He grinned.

Hermione thought for a minute and sat up, shocking him by stripping off her shirt. "Better?" she sniffed, shaking back her hair in that righteous fashion of hers he'd come to recognize. She felt quite heady – and kind of invincible.

Tom eyed her thoughtfully, weighing the pros and cons of using an intoxicated Hermione to his advantage. Not one con came to mind. He smirked.

"Almost," he said, appealing to her competitive side, "but I'd enjoy this much more if you were…wearing less."

"Oh really?" Hermione rolled her shoulders and slowly reached behind her, watching him through slanted eyes as she unclasped her bra. His gaze darkened and she slipped off the straps one by one.

"All the way."

It fell to the floor in a quiet swish of fabric.

"No, leave the skirt on," he added sharply when she reached for it. She stopped and stared at him, waiting for the next direction. Lust built under the weight of her undivided attention. "Come here."

Smiling triumphantly, she crawled up his body. His hands rose up to cup her breasts and she sighed, feeling more hazy than usual when he kissed her. She went limp as a puppet in his arms as his tongue entered her mouth, fingers twisting...

"Are you sure you've never done this before?" she mumbled and he laughed lowly.

"Quite." His tongue swept across hers and she moaned when he pinched her nipples at the same time, heat spreading through her like liquid silver. "Have you?"

"N-no," she gasped.

Tom groaned, bucking his hips into hers. "Good," he breathed. He took her hand and slipped it between them, bringing it to the front of his trousers where she felt his hard member. "Touch me, Hermione," he ordered, stroking her hair down her naked back and nipping a trail of bites down the side of her neck. "Go on."

But she'd never… Hermione gulped, suddenly nervous as well as terribly aroused, and cautiously rubbed her hand over him. His hips jerked in response. _That's a good sign, right? _she thought.

"Harder," he hissed.

She took a deep breath and unzipped his trousers. She'd never touched a man's – er – reproductive parts before. _Oh for Godric's sake, it's a penis! _she reprimanded herself. The next thing she knew she'd be calling Tom's member You-Know-What and the-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. _Damn it all to hell, I'm done for. _"What do I do now?" she said, all drunken haze gone, and his hooded eyes flicked up to meet hers.

"You mean you haven't read any useful books on oral sex?" he teased. When she narrowed her eyes at him he had mercy on her and added, "Just stroke me."

"Stroke?" she squeaked.

He rolled his eyes. Oh Merlin, what god forsaken idiot took her virginity? "Yes, in an up and down motion," he explained in a show of exaggerated patience.

Oh alright, that didn't sound so bad… Hermione bit her lip and scooted down to kneel between his thighs before she ever so carefully pulled down his boxers, slowly revealing his prominent V-line that actually looked very sexy, and his hips automatically flew into the air when she accidentally brushed his length. _Whoops_. She glanced up to see if she'd done something wrong, but his eyes were clenched shut and every inch of him was rigid.

Yes, even the- Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Right, so he told her to 'take it'. She steeled herself and did so, wrapping her hand around his erect length and eliciting another rough jerk from him. A flutter of anticipation went through her. "Now I stroke?" she asked, feeling incredibly stupid when he cracked his eyes opened into black slits and nodded stiffly.

Hermione tried not to hold him too hard or too lightly as she guided her hand up and down, and it seemed she was doing her first hand job right, for Tom soon started to rock his hips into her hand repeatedly and without pause, her name flying from his lips a few times along with a stream of curses. She decided she liked seeing her name come out of his mouth like that and sped up. A bead of sweat started on his handsome brow. Hermione watched it dart down his cheek and felt the strangest urge to lick it off. Her magic surged up around her, racing over her body and stoking his.

He started to breathe heavier, abdomen flexing when he reached up and grabbed the couch cushions, clenching them as she increased her pace, flicking her thumb over the head experimentally. He thrashed at that, cursing again, and abruptly froze.

She watched in fascination as his brow furrowed, kissable mouth parting slightly while he jerked into her hold a few more times. A growl, long and low like an animal, rumbled out of his chest and then his release was suddenly spilling through her fingers.

Surprised, she let go.

After a minute or two Tom recovered and sat up, taking his wand and casting a _Scourgify _on them before he pulled his boxers back on, although he left his trousers on the floor. He turned to her and kissed her long and deep, rubbing off the last remnants of lipstick on her mouth. He really was a great kisser. "Was it good?" she asked curiously when he pulled away, words slurring a little.

"Oh yes, darling." He chuckled. "Very good."

She beamed.

Feeling very self-satisfied, he leaned back, arranging them into a comfortable position, and pulled the afghan on again. "Go to sleep, Hermione."

A beat of silence.

"Er, Tom?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't give me my top back."

"And?"

"But…this blanket is itchy."

He sighed. "You're not getting your shirt until we wake up. I'm far too comfortable to move again."

"You cheeky-"

"Watch it," he interrupted, placing a finger over her lips. "Or your skirt goes too."

"You can't confiscate my clothes!" Hermione protested hotly.

"Is that a challenge?"

"_No."_

"Oh alright," he said, disappointed, and Summoned her shirt. She snatched it from him, pulling it on and buttoning up before he could change his mind. She lay down again, reveling in how nice his arms around her made her feel. Hopefully, Elphy would be too out of it tomorrow to realize Hermione never came back.

Within moments she was asleep, snoring lightly, and the Room of Requirement was dim and quiet. Tom spoke softly, uttering Parseltongue in hush, and the pipes inside the walls shuddered in reply at his whisper of strange, fiery hisses. He flicked a lock of hair out of her eyes. Staring down at her in the dark, he saw an object. A corruptible, vulnerable, succulent object who had just begun to succumb to his manipulation.

He had caught the perfect prey.

And the Basilisk wouldn't get one bite.

…

Dumbledore had returned.

He was at the highest point of his career, the most renowned wizard in the entire world, and would be a new addition to the Chocolate Frog cards. However, he did not return to Hogwarts as happily as a reveled hero might have been expected to, but with the weight of his former best friend's death on his shoulders and the mystery of an unknown killer some magical folk referred to as the Mysterious Cloaked Figure in mind. Dumbledore was determined to find him, for he had not come to save the Wizard World from a power-hungry tyrant's regime but for the Elder Wand. Now the Mysterious Cloaked Figure had it and Dumbledore could only guess what his intentions were.

But _who_ was he?

Hermione entered the Great Hall to find three familiar faces had come back since the weekend. The first she saw was of course Dumbledore, for Dippet announced his return and gave a speech full of praise and admiration that had students actually listening to for once, the second was Regulus and the third Meredith Smith, who sat at the opposite end of the table looking sullen and a little blank. She didn't glare at Hermione at all when she sat down, not even looking her way once.

The other Slytherins noticed Meredith's behavior as well and shifted away from the witch uncomfortably. Many of them tried to find out what exactly happened to her, but she said the same thing to everyone: "I drank too much Firewhiskey and thought the classroom was a lavatory, slipped on some potions, cracked my head on a desk. I didn't wake up until Gregovitch found me."

Fabia tried talking to her, but gave up when Meredith continued to only respond in a monotone. She trudged back to her seat beside Regulus, looking annoyed. "She's acting strange," she grumbled.

"She's just doing it for attention," Regulus said off-handedly. "Leave her alone and she'll go back to normal."

"He's right," Abraxas agreed. "You know how Meredith is, if she gets the spotlight for even a second she'll do whatever it takes to make her minute of fame last longer. This is just another one of her ploys."

Reluctantly, Fabia conceded.

Tom walked in then and was pleased to see Hermione next to his chair again. It was as if the blunder with Meredith had never happened, except now he had his locket back – and an upcoming ally on his side.

His plans had never proceeded so smoothly.

"Tom, maybe you can talk some sense into Mer," Rosy said when he arrived, turning to him hopefully. "She's acting very odd."

"Ah yes, Meredith," he said, sorrowfully. "Unfortunately, I've already tried talking to her, but she's resisted all my attempts. She even told me before leaving the dance she wanted to end things between us. I don't understand why. Then again, she'd been acting quite…out of sorts." He sighed and all the females at the table, excluding Hermione, looked at him pityingly. "It is her decision, however. I don't think she'd listen to me now on any account."

"It doesn't make any sense," Fabia pressed, glancing down the table at the girl herself. Meredith stared blankly at her untouched plate, brown eyes a little vacant. "I thought she really liked you!"

"I did too, but I suppose this has been coming," Tom said, although there was a sliver of irritation in his gaze. "She has been acting strangely lately, hasn't she? Attacking Hermione, getting detention, leaving the dance and hurting herself – and now this. I'm worried about her."

Through all these seamless lies he fed the Slytherins, Hermione stared on in amazement. He was so goodat this, _she_ half-believed Meredith was off her rocker. He made the girl seem like a helpless troublemaker, as if harm had never come to her by someone else's hand but was self-inflicted, which made Meredith sound even crazier! The fables flowed from his lips as if second nature, like lying was another language and he spoke it fluently. Would shebe able to tell if he lied to her?

Probably not.

The bell rang and everyone listening to Tom's mesmerizing tale jumped, startled by the interruption. He smiled graciously and stood, bidding them a good day. Hermione followed suit and they left the Great Hall, oblivious to the excited chatter recounting Dumbledore's epic battle and the mystery murderer of Grindelwald around them.

"The shortcut?" he suggested.

Hermione nodded and they went down one of the less popular corridors, stopping outside of the tapestry hiding a secret passage. He pulled it back, rapping the wall with his wand several times, and the bricks grinded as they wriggled out of the way to create an opening large enough for them to walk through.

Inside, the long hall was lit by flickering torches, but a few feet in she stopped. He halted too and arched a brow questioningly, eying her. "What is it?" he asked, low voice echoing off the low stone walls. _What is it? Is it? It…? _

"Tom, do you really think Meredith is alright?" she burst out.

"Meredith Smith?" he said, looking at her strangely. "What are you thinking about her for?"

"The others were right," Hermione said. "She was acting oddly this morning-"

"It's just school drama," he interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure she is perfectly fine."

She frowned, unconvinced, but didn't push it; he didn't seem too interested in the subject.

"Then can we meet tonight to research the essences?" she asked. "I still haven't found anything else on them and I want to get rid of those things before they can do any lasting damage."

"How concerned you are for the well-being of others, Hermione."

"I'm serious! Besides, not all of us have the moral standards of the devil," she retorted.

A bladed smile took shape at this. "But that's where you're wrong, isn't it?" he said, softly. "Because I don't have any morals at all."

* * *

**AN: I was contemplating whether to call this chapter Like a Virgin or G.N.O. but figured that'd be too **_**Have You Ever.**_** *go FF bashing!* I also giggled a lot while writing it and I hope you did too (but if you just envisioned a super sexified Tom Riddle and kind of went crazy with the lemon, that works too…) *growls* If Hermione seemed a bit OOC it's because she was drunk and Tom is a very good manipulator. **

**Thanks for reading and review for the-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If you have any dirty synonyms for Tom's wood in mind also let me know. **

**You know, if you've got the guts. *flexes biceps **_**the Fight Club **_**style***

**Love you guys, XX!**


	18. What's Yours Is Mine

**AN: ****HUGE thank you to you all, my sexilicious readers! I'm sorry about the prolonged wait, but it's freezing here in NY and I have no car - so trips to the library for Wifi ain't no walk in the park.**** First off, I have to say_ Ryn Thailoween'_s "deathstick" comment is ultimate hilariousness, hands down. I am now scheduling a Deathstick Appreciation Day. F****or those whom it may concern, Professor Chanté is back! All your speculations about him are...close (and sometimes a little *ahem* PG13). I don't want to give any spoilers, but a few questions pertaining to our Belgian blondie will be answered this update. Also, don't forget about the black cat and essences! They're seen sparingly in the next few chapters, but still_ très importante. _;)**

* * *

In Potions Slughorn assigned the task of completing an Angel Trumpet Draught by the end of class and left the students to work, strolling around the room to observe and make helpful remarks. The top students had finished within fifteen minutes, leaving Hermione Granger to get to work on the upcoming Transfiguration essay and Tom Riddle bored. She started when she felt a hand on her knee.

_His _hand, of course.

"Is there something you need?" she said tartly, although other than the slight shifting of her lips she didn't seem to move at all. The rest of the class was oblivious to Tom Riddle's wandering hands. Her magic, however, roused to life instantly.

"No, I was just thinking-" She jumped a little when his hand hiked up her thigh, sending him a fierce glare. He looked at her through his long lashes innocently. "-about last night."

At the mention of her drunk episode, Hermione yanked away her leg and turned back to her paper, hiding her flushed face behind her hair. She remembered all too well the events of last night, including the partying, knocking Elphy unconscious – who was so drunk she thought Hermione was Meredith Smith – and…the hand job. And the stripping.

She cleared her throat. "What about it?"

He laughed softly and his hand was on her leg again, gliding up even farther, to the very top of her stocking before she could shake him off. She squeaked, glancing at Slughorn hastily. "I thought you deserved compensation," he said, mouth warm and ticklish as a feather against her ear, "for your efforts."

"A-aren't we going to research tonight?"

He sighed, rustling strands of her hair and sending the scent of mint toothpaste spinning up her nose. She restrained herself from moving a bit closer to that enticing smell. "Research? The essences aren't going anywhere, darling," he said reasonably. "There's always tomorrow."

Well, she supposed to him they _did_ have all the time in the world, especially since he planned on being immortal. At this thought, Hermione was startled the reminder that he was making terrible schemes and would one day become Lord Voldemort – if she failed – did not repulse her, but in fact, it hardly fazed her. Then again, the task had been revised. She had to remind herself she didn't know Tom Riddle as well as she thought she did.

She frowned.

Tom, taking this as an admission of defeat, flashed her a dazzling grin and withdrew when Slughorn came toward them, although his hand stayed where it was – like he was reminding her of his presence. Or staking a claim.

"Another perfect potion from my top students," the Potions Master chortled, giving the Draught a stir and taking a delicate whiff. Unlike the last potion he tested, this one did not smell of ammonia and rotten eggs but of freshly-mowed grass and new pennies. He pulled back. "Very, very impressive. Ten points to each of you. Keep up the good work!" He moved on to the next pair, humming contentedly. He was so glad he hadn't decided to change the seating chart.

The bell rang shrilly and students scrambled to clean their stations, Tom clearing their own with a neat flick of his wand. Hermione followed him out into the hall and found Abraxas and Regulus lounging in the shadowy edges of the corridor as they waited for the Head Boy they so admired. Beside them, Dolohov was making ugly remarks to any Gryffindor who happened to pass by. She forced herself not to comment.

"Gentlemen," Tom greeted, assessing the boys with a brief scope of those cool black eyes. His Head Boy badge gleamed bright gold against his uniform. "You are all staying out of trouble, I hope?"

"Of course, Tom," they answered in eerie unison.

Abraxas snickered. "At least, for the most part," he muttered. He glanced at Hermione inquiringly although he did not ask after her presence. Dolohov gnashed his teeth at a first-year Gryffindor, who screamed and ran the rest of the way down the hall. Regulus rolled his eyes.

"Please refrain from traumatizing eleven-year olds, Antonin," Tom said drily. "Next time, you may just find yourself cleaning toilets in detention with Gregovitch."

A deep rumble in Dolohov's chest, akin to an apology, was the Slytherin's reply.

Hermione was about to leave and Tom looked up, catching her around the waist and ignoring the Slytherin jockeys for a moment. "And where do you think _you're_ going?" he asked, raising a brow.

She squirmed. "I...I have to go to class."

"I know that, Hermione." He leaned closer. "What I want to know is where you get the idea you can go off without a proper goodbye."

"Proper goodbye?" she said, bewildered.

"Of course." Gently, he lifted her chin and gave her a delicate kiss. This kiss was not like the heated lip locks they shared in private, which made her feel like she'd been set on fire and possessed by a particularly enthralling sex demon – but it wasn't any less enticing. His charcoal-black eyes seared into her until her own eyelids flickered shut, giving into sweet sensation.

Over Hermione's head, Tom glanced up and met Regulus Black's shocked gaze, which averted to the floor a second too late at being caught by his Lord. He smirked and pulled away slowly, rubbing his thumb over Hermione's cheek like an afterthought. "That is how you say goodbye," he murmured. "Go to class, darling. I'll see you in Transfiguration."

She nodded wordlessly. His arrogant smile widened and he strode away, barking a command at Regulus to keep up. Hermione looked up to find an entire hall of stunned stares focused solely on her. She cleared her throat awkwardly and left for class.

Herbology passed quickly, for Regulus did not talk much during the period and Augusta had been excused for Quidditch practice. Behind closed doors, however, Regulus Black was disturbed by what he'd witnessed earlier – he had _never _seen Tom Riddle kiss anyone; despite all the boy's natural charms he seemed to take joy in getting his way through more sadistic means than simple charisma – and admittedly, he didn't want to see Hermione get hurt. He knew Meredith had gotten what was coming to her (although he didn't know why Voldemort required Salazar Slytherin's Locket) but what could he possibly gain from Hermione? Would she be found bleeding to death in a spare classroom, too?

Regulus didn't like the sound of that.

But Voldemort's word was law and he'd be damned if he ever disobeyed him. Hopefully, Hermione wouldn't either. Maybe then, he thought, she wouldn't get hurt too badly, in the end.

When Transfiguration finally came around Hermione was a nervous wreck. Would Dumbledore recognize her as the culprit who murdered Grindelwald? But no, all the tabloids were claiming the Mysterious Cloaked Figure was a wizard, not a woman, and it would take Dumbledore a while until he even considered the killer to be female. For once, Hermione was glad her gender was so discriminated against and underestimated in the 1940s. Still though, it would only be a matter of time until she was found out… The class broke into wild applause when Dumbledore strode in, bringing a gracious smile to the heroic professor's face. Half of the period was spent peppering him with congratulations and questions on his epic battle against Grindelwald and the mystery killer. Dumbledore ended it quickly when the subject broached his former best friend's death, however, and began the lesson by collecting everyone's essays on the Morphus Spell.

Hermione didn't answer any questions today, too filled with conflicting emotions to concentrate very well. Dumbledore had been the one who was supposed to end Grindelwald, not her, and the plan was to then obtain the Elder Wand from him and destroy it. Well, Grindelwald was dead and she had the Elder Wand, but now that she'd decided to take the task into her own hands how was she to accomplish step five? _But it _is _only 1943, _she thought reasonably._ It's not like I'm running out of time here. _In fact, until 1998 rolled around Hermione wasn't going anywhere, nor could she get older since time travel did not affect aging. How could her body grow when, technically, it had yet to be born? And what if the Elder Wand came in handy? Dumbledore had been powerful enough to wield it. Why couldn't she do the same?

She exited class with Hayley Abott, who was in the Dueling Club and had been raving about Dumbledore and Grindelwald's battle for the last sixty minutes. They found a surprise waiting for them outside, however, and in the form of one of the most popular Slytherins at school: Elphy Wictz.

Catching Hermione's eye, the leggy strawberry blonde swayed forward with a preening smile. "Princess, how _are_ you? I just took the most dreadful exam in Charms. Pretty sure I got a Troll on it, in fact, and I-" She broke off abruptly, raising a waxed brow at Hayley. "Miss Abott," she said sweetly. "May we help you?"

"O-oh no, Elphy, it's fine! I was just leaving actually," Hayley reassured, blushing. "Bye Hermione!" With this, she scampered off, slipping into a passing crowd of Ravenclaws. She – and a few of her friends – glanced back twice, giggling.

"What a dolt," Elphy muttered. "Did Dumbledore force you two together for a project or something?"

"Don't be mean," Hermione said admonishingly. "Hayley is nice."

"Abraxas would say the same thing, if she had breasts to fill that lumpy bra with," her friend snickered. Seeing Hermione's look, she grinned and added, "Oh lighten up, I'm just having a bit of fun! Besides, all I ate so far today was two eggs and a cube of blasted cheese. Hunger always makes me more bitchy."

"You may be onto something."

Childishly, Elphy stuck her tongue out and looped their arms together, marching them in the direction of the Great Hall. Students in the corridor curbed the girls as they passed, careful not to bump shoulders or get too close. "So tell me, princess, where did you and _Fiddle_ go off to last night?" the Slytheriness said slyly, glancing at Hermione with a sneaky smirk. "I've been itching to ask you all day, but didn't get the chance since breakfast was so frantic."

"I don't know if we're together," Hermione said uncomfortably. "He did – um – kiss me in the hall earlier though, so I think people will be catching on soon-"

"Holy Hufflepuff - he did _what_? Hermione, this is groundbreaking news! What if you're the one?"

"The what?"

"You know, the pea to his pod, the butter to his beer – oh forget that one, it wasn't romantic at all – er, the PB to his J-"

"I get it," she interrupted, laughing at her friend's terrible analogies. "I don't think 'the one' exist for Tom though. We're just… well…"

"Being frivolous?"

She blushed. "I guess."

"Well, I won't tell any of the others if you want to keep this a secret," Elphy said, drawing the friendly link of their arms tigheter, as if in confidence. She and Hermione strode past the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and half a dozen males whistled, waving their sweaty jerseys after the girls. Elphy didn't give them a second glance, but Hermione was startled by their attentions and made the mistake of looking back once. A blonde Beater winked at her, gyrating his hips inappropriately.

"Say Elphy," she said, breaking the silence. "Not to be...nosy, but you said something last night that made me wonder. Were you and Meredith…um…ever together?"

The Slytherin froze mid-stride. Hermione skittered to a halt beside her, surprised to find Elphy ashen-faced, green eyes wide with not faux innocence or iciness, but embarrassment. "I said that?" she said at last, faintly.

"Sort of." _You called me Mer and asked me to be your sweetheart, that is._

"Hm."

Elphy started to walk again. Hermione matched her strides.

"So? Were you?" she pressed.

Her friend heaved a heavy sigh. "I'll never drink Dippet's wine again," Elphy muttered. Glancing around them suspiciously, she said, "Listen Hermione, Mer and I - we've never been officially 'together.' Kind of like you and Tom, except we were on-and-off and always had to keep it a secret. Not to say that worked out exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean rules were made to be broken and not everyone is a law breaker." She kicked a rolling bottle of potions out of their path. "But no matter, Meredith likes boys more than she ever liked me. Secrecy is no longer a concern."

"Oh." A morose silence fell between them. After a minute, Hermione said, "No offense, but I always assumed you fancied Tom."

"That's my fault." Elphy grinned a little. "I tried to make Meredith jealous quite often. It was kind of a game between us now that I think about it, actually. In fifth year I dated Oliver Bagshot - no idea what I was thinking, honestly; he's so unattractive - but after I dumped him he went out with that Longbottom girl. Anyway, Meredith and I got in a fight over the usual things: plans after school, her parents, etc. But I said some things I probably shouldn't have and to get back at me she hoed off with Bagshot on Valentine's Day! Longbottom was _almost_ as peeved as me."

"How did you make up?"'

"Sex." She sighed. "Really good sex."

"I've never had 'really good sex,'" Hermione confessed. "Is there a trick or something, a...technique?"

"It's all in the partner," Elphy said matter-of-factly, "but don't you worry, _Fiddle_ will fix that - ahem - situation up for you soon enough, princess." Hermione scoffed. "No, really! I bet he secretly likes it rough and everything-"

"So I should get in touch with my dominative side?"

"More like _his _inner dominator."

They shared a look and burst into laughter. Elphy, at the ludicrousness of it. Hermione, at the ironic truth in her friend's statement. It made her stomach flip with both unease and anticipation.

The girls arrived at the Slytherin section then. Hermione ate a cheese sandwich and Elphy engaged in a heated argument with Abraxas over 'the hideousness of Quidditch couture,' while Dolohov blocked out their bickering with the Daily Prophet. He was currently completing a crossword. Looking further down, Hermione found Meredith sitting in the same spot she'd been in this morning, except now there was a wider gap between her and the other students. Fabia seemed to be trying to make small talk.

Meredith didn't look interested.

"She'll come around eventually," Regulus said suddenly and she looked up to find him watching her too. "She's just in one of her moods again."

_So she's acted like this before?_ "You're sure?" Hermone asked, unsure of this new, quiet Meredith.

"Sure as the sky is blue."

The sky had been looking quite grey these days...

Over Regulus' shoulder, she suddenly saw Tom Riddle striding across the Great Hall. He looked very much like a Renaissance painting come to life with his thick dark hair and chiseled features; he could have even been Mona Lisa's counterpart with those eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere, or a penned Dore illustration of Lucifer minus the demon wings. A smile involuntarily spread across her face as her magic immediately reacted to his presence, sensing and anticipating it. Not for the first time, she wondered what it was that made her feel this way. It hadn't been like this before, had it? Before their magic only connected through touch and even that was only on occasion. Now however, it seemed stronger, or at the very least more sensitive.

Regulus followed Hermione's suddenly sparkling gaze to find Tom Riddle approaching the Slytherins. He nearly jumped out of his skin and quickly turned back around, stuffing his face with mash as fast as humanely possible. Voldemort had never said it explicitly, but Regulus had the feeling the Head Boy didn't like his befriending Hermione Granger. After his last horrific experience with him... he was in no hurry to anger his Lord again.

He shuddered.

Tom took his seat and Elphy met Hermione's gaze, giving her a secret smile to which the witch responded with a roll of her eyes. Her friend looked away, laughing silently.

Hermione's eyes fell on the staff table behind Elphy Wictz. She saw Dumbledore, jauntily conversing with the Charms professor and fingering a glass of port wine. What would she do, she wondered, if he _did _find out it was her who killed Grindelwald? Did she tell him about time travelling and the task? Would he even believe her? And if he did, would he try to send her back? What if killing Grindelwald didn't help the future, but hurt it? Hurt _Dumbledore?_

A cool hand found hers under the table, interrupting her thoughts. Hermione looked up to find Tom on the other end of it. He was still speaking to the others with that expression of stony indifference ingrained into his handsome features, not seeming to contain any emotions other than cool reserve and self-reassurance. As always.

The long fingers encircling her wrist tightened.

* * *

"Can anyone tell me the name of this-" Professor Chanté held up the caged creature for the class to see with some struggle. "-eighty-five pound bugger?" he gasped.

Hermione's hand immediately shot into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"It's a kappa, a water deity that eats human organs, drowns people and animals alike, and pulls nasty pranks for fun. That indentation on the top of its' head is a _sara, _filled with water giving it strength. Kappas are also extremely polite as well as maleficent. They reside in the ponds, lakes and springs of Japan, and sometimes sewage systems," Hermione rattled off. Here, a frown creased her forehead. "But professor, aren't they dangerous?"

"Correct!" he said, beaming at his best student, who was pretty sure it was illegal to remove kappa from their native habitat since they were an endangered species as well. "They're also mischievous, intelligent, and much more lethal than they look – a lot like Mme. Wiber." He winked and the class chuckled. "Now, I want all of you to observe your kappa's behaviors – no, Mr. Dolohov, do _not _poke them – and record what you see. If they interact with you, don't respond (it'll only make them angry), but write down what they say. It could be important. You'll have a pop quiz on them sometime later this week so take good notes."

He waved his wand and a round of red sparks flew out the tip, spraying the ceiling like frazzled pop rocks. "_Allez!_"

Everyone immediately scrambled into pairs and although the buzzing class was plenty distracting, Hermione's eyes fell on Meredith Smith in the fray, aloof and still at her desk as students hurried about her like a colony of racing ants swirling around a bare apple core. She looked bored.

Across the room, Minerva McGonagall was heading toward her friend Hermione. Rosy Parkinson suddenly strode by, 'accidentally' knocking her scrolls out of her hands with a large bump of her hip and snickering when the Gryffindor shrieked in outrage. "Better get that clutter off the floor, little lion," she drawled, already sashaying away. "Someone could trip."

"Bloody Slytherins," Minerva spat and hastened to recollect her things, watching through slanted eyes as Rosy Parkinson skipped up to Hermione. Since when were _they _friends? she thought furiously.

"Hi Hermione! Do you want to partner up?"

Hermione turned around, surprised to find Rosy beaming back at her. "Oh, um, sure," she replied slowly. "Where do you want to sit?"

"Wherever you'd like to."

"OK... How about over here?" she said, leading them to one of the last empty tables in the back. Rosy agreed and trailed after her.

Hermione took the cover off their caged kappa, which passed gas that smelled horribly of bad sushi when they didn't respond to its squeaky death threats. She began to record notes while Rosy gabbed about Christmas break and an upcoming family vacation to Switzerland – or something along those lines anyway.

"Listen, Rosy, that's all really nice," she interjected, after fifteen minutes of the girl's insipid blathering, "but we need to get to work if we're going to finish this in time."

"What? Oh, you should've said that at the beginning!" Rosy laughed tinklingly. "Let's get to it then." Promptly, she took out her quill and parchment, following Hermione's lead and taking careful notes on the kappa.

Hermione wrote _blue prune-like skin, webbed feet and hands, large watery eyes, _and_ carapace _under characteristics. She had just finished when Rosy suddenly elbowed her in the arm. Hermione blew out an annoyed sigh.

"Yes?" she said shortly.

"You missed it!" Rosy hissed, dismayed. "Professor Chanté was just staring over here for, like, two entire minutes."

She peered at their wrinkly specimen. "Was the kappa doing something strange?"

"Not at all. In fact, I think _Charmant_ _Chanté_ was staring at _you_."

She dropped her quill in shock, but picked it up as soon as it splattered ink all over her notes. A blush burned her cheeks as she charmed off the stains. "That's ridiculous," she grumbled. "What if he was looking at you_, _hm?"

"I think I'm going to put that theory to the test." Rosy raised her hand. "Oh professor, can you come help us?" she called, batting her eyelashes and attracting the attention of half the class.

Hermione's head whipped up. "What are you doing?" she yelped, trying to drag Rosy's arm back down - but it was too late.

Professor Chanté looked up from where he was assisting Minerva and Meredith, who had been lumped together as the only partner-less students of the class, and smiled – indeed, charmingly_ – _at the Slytherin witches. "I'll be there in a moment, Miss Parkinson."

"Thank you, professor," Rosy sang, finally lowering her hand.

Hermione cursed the moment she first drew breath.

A minute later Professor Chanté was walking toward them, the blue quill always residing behind his ear twittering merrily, a smudge of ink on his chin. The crouched on the opposite side of their desk, resting his elbows on Hermione's half comfortably. At this, Rosy gave her a pointed look she ignored.

"Hello, ladies. What d'you need?" he said, happy as sunshine.

"Noth-"

"You see, professor, I ate cucumber salad for lunch and since kappa are known for really liking cucumbers I was wondering if I was in danger of being eaten," Rosy said, straight-faced. "I'm quite concerned for my life actually."

The professor looked stunned. "That's an…odd question," he muttered, flicking his quill. His blue eyes glanced over Hermione and his right cheek dimpled in a loose grin. "_Et tu, _Miss Granger? Did you eat cucumber salad?"

"No, professor."

"Well then, why don't you go to the lavatory and wash your hands, Miss Parkinson? That will wash off whatever remains of the scent and you should be perfectly safe hereafter," he offered.

Having waited for this very suggestion, Rosy jumped to her feet. "Good idea, professor! I'll be right back." She hurried out of the classroom.

"Is she always like that?" Professor Chanté said out of the corner of his mouth, staring after the Slytheriness wonderingly.

"No, thankfully."

He lifted his brows at the poorly concealed temper brewing in Hermione's gaze, ever the observer. "Something wrong, _ma chérie_?" the professor inquired.

Hermione deliberated over her response. Should she tell him? He seemed genuinely concerned and they were the only ones in the back row, so no one would overhear - especially Tom, who sat all the way in the front. His dark, intense eyes were keen on the kappa, a quill hanging lazily between his fingers as he made a comment to Dolohov. For an instant, she didn't see the rest of the classroom at all – just Tom and his magic, beating like a war drum in time with her slowing heartbeat... Her pupils dilated as it called to her, whispering seductively-

"Hermione?"

"Hm?" She turned at the sound of Professor Chanté's voice and blinked, realizing she was halfway out of her chair. When did she get up? "Did you say something?" she said, slowly sitting down. He had spoken, she knew, but forgot what he said in her…distraction.

"I did." The professor watched her very closely, blue eyes like microscopes and alight with the type of speculation usually paired with an examination of the class's latest subject. She felt like an insect under his scrutiny.

Then, the look was gone.

"I inquired after your outside activities," he said smilingly, moving to his feet. "What are you doing after dinner?"

"After dinner?"

"Yes. Do you have any detentions-" Here, he winked. "-duties, and-or other preoccupations?"

"Possibly. Why?"

"No reason in particular. I thought you might just be able to assist me this evening. You see, I have many papers to grade and I know how very smart you are. Perhaps you could help me correct them...?"

Bemused, Hermione stared at him, eyes averting to his hand when it moved. She strangely thought of a black widow spider dancing toward its prey, about to seal fate with one deadly bite, and tensed slightly when he rested it on her shoulder. "Er, perhaps," she said haltingly. "I'll have to check my schedule though."

He sighed. "Come now, Hermione. Don't you know a pathetic excuse when you see one?" When she didn't answer he chuckled, idly playing with a lock of her hair. "I am curious about you. You see, the moment we first met I knew that you were different. You're not a silly little girl, like Miss Parkinson, are you? You've seen things. You can do things others can't."

Her eyes widened. He knew she was a time traveler!

But no, this was not the case, for the next thing Professor Chanté did was the oddest yet and steered her panicking thoughts in a completely...new direction.

He leaned in close, slowly crossing out an observation on her paper with the quill he always carried and replacing it with a word or two. The hand on her shoulder didn't move. "Beautiful," he said, impressed, "but your measurements of the kappa's girth were off by a centimeter or two. See?"

"Oh yes." She read over his calculations quickly. "I see."

"Also, Hermione, two of your buttons have come undone," he said so casually, he might have been commenting on the weather.

She colored. "Sorry, professor," she said, mortified, and hastily fixed her shirt. _That's the last time I take fashion advice from Elphy. _"Um, thanks."

"Anytime. Any other questions?"

"No, thank you."

He nodded. "Well, if you reconsider coming tonight I will be here at nine o' clock. I'll leave the door unlocked." With that, he sent her one last friendly smile before taking leave.

Hermione was still red when Rosy Parkinson flounced into her seat.

"Soooo how did it goooo?" she twittered, nearly beside herself with curiosity. "I saw you two cozying it up from the hall, but then some stupid, broad-shoulder Gryffindor got up and blocked the door window."

"If you ever do anything like that again I will hex you into oblivion."

Rosy's face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione. I-I-I thought you liked him, I mean everyone does!"

"Well, _I _don't!"

The witch seemed on the verge of tears, but Hermione didn't notice. She felt strangely overwhelmed. Upping Grindelwald, being so close to Tom Riddle, having to watch out for Dumbledore – who she _should_ feel able to confide in if worse came to worst, but instead felt too guilty to face because of all the plunders she'd made – and then having Professor Chanté, with his good looks and boyish charm, inviting her to 'correct papers' after school - everything was finally starting to take its toll. The 1940s were getting to her.

"Just don't do it again, alright?" she said waspishly, storming out of the classroom when the bell rang.

The Slytheriness scurried after her.

"Of course, Hermione," Rosy said quickly, panting. "I-Isn't there anything I can do to make up for it?"

_Stop talking,_ Hermione thought but didn't say. She shook her head, now inexplicably agitated as well. Her heart pounded and the scent of cedar and smoke rushed through her senses, dizzying and strong. The earth swiveled on its axis and she stumbled as Rosy's pleading words went in and out of focus for a second.

_What the-?_

"But I feel horrible about this," Rosy was babbling, "are you sure there isn't anything I can do, anything at all?"

But all her chatter was pointless, for both the Slytherin's voice and the world lost sound when Hermione saw _him. _An irrational, sweeping relief soared through her at the sight of Tom Marvolo Riddle in the Great Hall. Her magic soared, urging her to get closer to that powerful source of pulsing energy, and she was hardly aware of Rosy struggling to keep up as she all but ran to the Slytherin section.

"Tom!" she called out when her feet didn't carry her fast enough, waving. He slowly turned away from the pudding he'd been spooning and raised a brow at her disheveled state. She stumbled to a stop inches away from him, breathless. Haywire magic and sweat beaded under her clothes. Anxiety multiplied. "_Tom."_

"Are you alright?" he said, eyeing her.

Was she alright? No, no she didn't think so… Not now, not with him so far away… "Maybe not." She scratched her throat, trying to get rid of the itch covering every inch of her body. "I think I might be getting sick or something." Paranoid, she glanced at the staff table to see if Dumbledore noticed anything, but he wasn't here yet. The knowledge didn't make her feel any better. Didn't soothe the unreachable burn buried deep under her skin, screaming for a salve, a relief, for _something._

"Sick how?" Tom pressed, suddenly looking more intent.

"Weak." So, so weak – and she needed something to take it away, to give her her strength back, to fill this gaping hollow…

"We can leave now," he said, bringing her out of her thoughts, "but you can't let on that anything is wrong." He smiled. "We wouldn't want to cause a stir, now would we?"

Hermione nodded, too busy scratching herself to really listen.

He stood, glad only a few seventh-year Slytherins had arrived to dinner thus far, saving him from having to explain their abrupt departure too thoroughly. "Miss Parkinson," he said sharply, catching the dark-haired girl's wide eyes, which enlarged further under his attentions. "I am taking Miss Granger to the hospital wing, I believe she is coming down with a fever. Tell the others we won't be returning."

"Oh! Of course, Tom," Rosy submitted, all too willingly. "I do hope Hermione feels better."

He nodded and walked out of the Great Hall, prompting Hermione to keep up with his long strides by laying a firm hand on her back. It was happening, he realized, forcing back the exulted smile aching to bleed through his self-control. _Finally, _after all these weeks - the process had at last begun. The doors to the eating hall swung shut behind them, but they weren't alone yet, for the halls were still filled with ambling students and teachers. Thankfully, he didn't see anyone either of them knew.

As they navigated the quieting castle Hermione realized past her discomfort that the route he was leading them down was not correct. What was he doing? "We're not going the right way," she muttered, frowning. "The hospital wing is on the other side."

"I am aware."

"...but we need to go there!"

He laughed, unable to contain the excitement now slicking through his veins like spilled oil any longer, clogging him, festering like an infected wound. "No, darling. Hogwarts' healing staff won't be able to help you." _Not anymore._

"What are you talking a-about-?" Her words ended in a groan and her knees buckled, but Tom caught her around the waist before she could slump to the floor. She leaned against him, panting as her stomach rolled sickeningly.

"You are weak, aren't you?" he said thoughtfully. "I didn't think the effects would come on so strong, the first time around."

Effects? Did he _poison _her? Hermione had no idea, but felt too nauseous to try speaking again – she might throw up instead. With horror, she realized they were utterly alone in the darkened hall and that everyone else was at dinner. No matter where he intended to take her, she was going. No one was here to stop him. She was too weak to resist.

"But I suppose," he continued, adjusting her body so she lay limply in his arms as he resumed their stroll through the castle, "our fate could have been simply written in the stars. Perhaps we are star-crossed?" he taunted, laughing softly at his joke.

They arrived at their destination, which Hermione learned was the Room of Requirement, and went in after he propped her up against a stone pillar and strode up and down the corridor three times. She saw with relief he erected the Book Room, not a torture chamber, but saw no more when the tremors wracking through her body became too strong to be repressed. Magic was building up inside her like hot air, making her feel like a rubber band stretched too far, ready to snap at any moment-

"What's wrong?" Tom asked, sounding impatient and strangely eager. "Tell me exactly."

_"Hungry."_ Hermione's heart hammered against her ribs hard. "Feverish and… it's all out of control, the-" _the Founder's magic_, she was about to say, but no – this was something different, wasn't it? This had nothing to do with the Founders of Hogwarts. She groaned. "It hurts." Hurts. Yes, it all hurt, and even as she said this a ripple of agony sliced through marrow and bone, through muscle and flesh. Crying out, she grabbed her chest where the burn seared hotter than molten lava, falling. Tom shut his eyes in relish at the sound.

"That's because our magic has begun to link," he said softly. She looked up to find him positively _beaming, _but the wild happiness didn't look right on his face, somehow not increasing his poetic beauty but deforming it; spinning the fine mask of carved lips and symmetry into something oh so hideous…

"But... but we didn't do anything! At least, I didn't-" Suddenly, disbelief ebbed through crippling pain, and Hermione stilled as the truth hit her. _No, _not again_. _The last time she'd been made a fool by Tom Riddle, the _last_ time one of his schemes slipped right past her a Despicable Concoction was turned into Amortentia, Meredith Smith almost died, and she became a murderer.

How much worse this was.

"You didn't," she growled.

He ran his hand over her cheek, reptilian smile growing when her body automatically leaned into his. Her eyes widened and she scrambled back, shaking. No, he couldn't have- she would _not _allow this to happen-

"Only my touch can calm your magic now," he murmured. "The first night we met here I said I'd teach you how to better your magic and I did just that. Our magic is bound together now, Hermione. It's _stronger – _and this is only the beginning."

"This isn't the beginning, it's a nightmare! You can't just steal my magic-"

"I'm not stealing it," he scoffed. "I am empowering you; just as you shall empower me."

"How did you do it?" she demanded, although it wasn't the first question that came to my mind. A part of her wanted to say _How could you do this to me? _It also wanted to cry.

But he'd just laugh at her.

"It wasn't difficult," Tom said, absently twirling his wand. "We already had a connection, Hermione, it just needed…coaxing…and when you willingly touched your magic to mine you sealed us together. It was rather convenient, really, and you only sped up the process when we shared magic a few nights ago."

At last, she understood. So this was why the Founder's magic had seemed so compliant lately? Because it wasn't the Founder's magic at all; it was Tom Riddle's. In fact, she realized that her magic had been more powerful, easier to subjugate, increasingly difficult to _restrain_ ever since the first time they met in the Room of Requirement. And if her and Tom's magic really was bound and stronger, then she must have been subconsciously using it. Dumbledore had said any powerful source of ancient magic could be used for the practices he would teach her and blood tracing back to Salazar Slytherin ran through Voldemort's veins. She didn't need the Founder's magic anymore. She could use his and he hers. Hermione's insides turned to ice at this revelation, because not just their magic was binding – they were too.

_Only my touch can calm your magic now. _

He was right. Because even though what he did made her hate him, the awful feeling of going into magical combustion overrode that. It wanted to drift away and be replaced by the lovely spark she felt every time his skin brushed hers. Oh, this explained everything! Why she had been so drawn to him lately and why her body now reacted so violently to his. Did this have anything to do with the death omens she was seeing, too? On second thought, however, Hermione doubted their connected magic was to blame for that...

This was why Dumbledore wanted her to stay away from Tom Riddle, wasn't it? He knew he would sense her power and take it from her – or in this case, bind it to himself. Why didn't Dumbledore warn her? And how could Tom do this, without even telling her, without a second thought?

She hadn't even known.

"Don't pretend you don't like this, darling," he said, watching her closely. "I know you have a weakness for Dark magic. Otherwise, the connection would have killed you, as would have that ritual."

_"Killed me?_" she gasped. "How dare you! And I am _not _your darling. If I were, you wouldn't have risked my death, because you'd care for me and it would matter to you whether or not I actually lived_. _Everything you say is a lie, every word, every stupid fake smile, touch... Bloody hell, you got me to give you a hand job!" Raving Ravenclaw, this was too embarrassing for words. How could she be such an _idiot? _And worse, the ritual would have killed her too? _Oh and I bet Dumbledore knew all about this, but conveniently 'forgot' to tell me. He raised Harry knowing he would only evidently have to die if Voldemort were to be defeated; why not goad on another spring pig? Why not risk her life?_

She'd never felt so betrayed.

"Stop that. You're overreacting, I had a feeling you would be fine."

"Oh gee, you had 'a feeling!' How reassuring it is to know you have a great sense of intuition."

"Don't push it." He kissed her softly, enjoying her temper. "What does it matter now anyway? You're alive, aren't you?"

"Don't you dare touch me!" she hissed.

He laughed darkly, catching her by the wrists when she tried to punch him, and Hermione winced in his vice-like grip. "I'll touch you as much as I like, _darling. _Whether or not you think I'm a liar, you belong to me now." And in that incredibly soft yet frightening voice he could flip on like a switch, he growled, "If anyone threatens your safety I will kill them personally…slowly…painfully. So you see? I do care."

His words were psychopathic, but combined with his painfully tight hold on her she couldn't help being drawn in more – magic, body, mind and all.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice gone gentle at her changing expression although his hands fastened on her all the more. She yelped and his eyes darkened with lust. "Do you like the pain?"

She shook her head, eyes watering.

"I do." He bent down and captured her lips, quivering like the wings of a dying butterfly. He pulled her arms behind her back - too far back - and she shrieked, thrashing. "The sound of agony is better than any symphony that filthy muggle Mozart wrote up, don't you think? And I haven't even gotten to try out pain and pleasure together yet. Those little noises coming out your mouth are making me hard already though."

"You're insane_."_

"Oh, but you haven't even given me a chance," he tsked, hot breath raising goosebumps on her flesh as it hissed over her neck. "Silly girl."

And Tom finally let her go, but only to grab her hair and pull her closer than before, snaking his tongue inside her mouth, making her body sing. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him pull her down onto the couch. A knee slipped between her legs and she moaned as their magic met, the nausea rolling around inside her vanishing with each touch. She grinded against him, trying to appease the hot friction between her thighs, and his hands travelled up her legs, long fingers curling around the top of her stockings and pulling them down ever so slowly. He leaned back, hooded midnight-black eyes taking in every inch of flesh swelling into sight as he peeled off her stockings.

He came back over her and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, lifting her waist and shoving his hardness against her hot center roughly. She cried out and he plunged his tongue between her lips, all but devouring her in one hard kiss. Hermione struggled to undo the buttons on his shirt as he ground into her, running her hands over his bare chest frantically. She _needed _to feel him, everywhere. She was going to explode if she didn't.

He pulled back, shrugging his shirt off in one graceful lilt of his shoulders, and was on top of her again in the next heartbeat. She scraped her nails down his back, ripping skin, and he hissed, biting her harshly in retaliation. The sting strangely turned her on all the more, even as pained tears and blood pooled. A whimper escaped her and he groaned.

She raised her hips off the couch when he pulled down her underwear and nervousness briefly took the place of steamy arousal when he spread her thighs. She wasn't sure how she felt about Tom seeing her down _there. _Ron hadn't really looked, he'd just poked around – but then again, they'd been drunk and that broom closet was quite dark… All thoughts of Ronald Weasley flew from her head with one taunting flit of Tom's fingers over her entrance. She gasped and bucked against him automatically, but he pinned her down and covered her mouth with his before she could issue a protest. One finger slowly slid into her entrance and she groaned, twisting his hair tightly when he curled it inside her, making her emit an animal-like pant.

"Kiss me," he ordered and she did, resulting in the gradual adding of two more digits, which stretched and twisted divinely inside her. He watched in fascination the wild responses she made. His thumb swept northward and Hermione cried out when he found her clit, rubbing it firmly. She threw her arm over her face, but he pulled it away and held it over her head so she couldn't hide anything from him. He wanted to see everything.

Tom knew she was close when she started to frantically gasp in a sharp, breathless staccato, arching her back. "Look at me," he said and Hermione's eyes fluttered open in her erotic haze. He kissed her forcefully, shoving his fingers deeper inside her at the same time, and swallowing the sudden, piercing scream she let loose.

"Say my name," he whispered, pushing his fingers in and out of her more steadily now, and gripping the back of her head firmly with his other hand. Her sweaty curls were like ribbons running through his fingers.

_Say it._

Her eyes rolled back into her head as his voice resounded through her head and their magic crackled in the air, raising every hair on his body as her toes curled and she clenched oh so tightly around his fingers. His ego leapt.

"T-Tom," she moaned and cried out, but he caught the sound with his lips, rolling his tongue around hers as she climaxed. A minute later, he pulled his fingers out of her wet heat and raised them to his mouth, smirking when she watched like a drunken maenad as he licked them clean. How adorable his darling was.

He lay down, gesturing for her to come too, and she did without complaint. Hermione's weight didn't feel smothering, he was pleased to find, but good on top of his chest. She mumbled his name again as he lazily traced random patterns down her side. It was much better to be here in Tom's arms than grading papers with Professor Chanté in a stuffy classroom, Hermione thought drowsily, as dreams shut her eyes and sleep slowed her breath.

Come to think of it, it was much better to be here with Tom Riddle than anywhere else.

* * *

**AN: If any of you have any questions about the magical bond or anything else, please feel free to ask in a review! I'd be happy to clear things up before the next chapter (sans spoilers and Abraxas, unless you prefer your men whorish and vagina-inclined). **

**Oh Abraxas, you horny boy. ;)**


	19. Ruined for the Rest

**AN: **_**The Task**_** is officially on HPAFF everyone! I'm not moving the story or anything, but I figured a back-up couldn't hurt (just in case). Also, huge thanks to those of you who reviewed and faved! I'm so glad you're all still on board with the story and enjoy the OCs so much. Below are answers to some good questions from reviewers. **

_**LivinJgrl123**_** asked whether or not Tom and Hermione are officially bound together since 'THAT' happened in the last chapter, and if Tom can use Hermione's **_**special magic**_**. The answer is no, they're not (yet), and if it was unclear they didn't have sex either (sorry!). Hermione also doesn't actually have any special magic; when Dumbledore gave her the task he taught her how to utilize ancient **_**magick**_** (like the Founder's) in a method that can defy most magical laws depending on how powerful the wizard using it is (ie: the only food Dumbledore can create is a gingersnap cookie and just that took him 'decades of practice'). And when Tom tricked Hermione into triggering a magic binding she was able to subconsciously use his magick instead of the Founder's since he is a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. SO super long explanation paragraph short – no, as long as Tom doesn't learn how to tap into magick he won't be able to do any tricks like Hermione, although****he **_**can**_** use her regular magic and vice versa. More on that in this chapter.**

_**Mione rocks… **_**This doesn't really count as a spoiler so I'm just going to say it: there won't be any love connections between Abraxas and Hermione. He's just curious about his Lord's interest in her. Plus, she's kind of part of the 'in-crowd' of Slytherin now. And he's a man whore. **

_**em **_**asked about Professor Chanté, the Elder Wand, and Meredith. I promise, there's a reason for **_**everything! **_**It will all make sense soon and you're completely in the right for being suspicious of Chanté. He's up to…something. Also, Hermione doesn't seem **_**too **_**concerned about the Elder Wand right now, but it makes a brief appearance in the chapter. And yes, she's going to be in uber trouble if someone finds out about that little murderous detour in Germany… Meredith is spooky, I agree. AND YES, I LOVE YOUR REVIEW! XD**

**OK, longest AN ever. *high fives for whoever actually read through the whole dang thing* Anyway, read on, my little Tomione whores! Read for your lives!**

* * *

Hermione woke up with a crick in her neck. She rubbed her eyes and stretched, joints popping as she scooted up the empty couch. _Wait, e__mpty? _She frowned. Where was Tom? Unhindered magic crept down her spine in a nervous dance and she brushed back her sleep-knotted hair, looking around the Room of Requirement quickly.

She found Tom Riddle leaning against one of the massive bookcases. His back was to her, but she could make out a glint of gold winking at her from between his fingers_. Slytherin's Locket, _her mind immediately supplied.

He was only partly dressed, black trousers hanging low on his hips, the snowy skin of his long back unblemished and tantalizing. His dark wavy hair had been combed and parted to the side; it looked like he freshened up when she was sleeping. _What time is it? _Hermione wondered, checking her watch, and was flabbergasted to see it was almost eleven o'clock. They were late!

She cursed and shot to her feet, searching for her stockings in the tangle of blankets and robes, casting a Laundering Charm on her clothes once she yanked them on. Hermione wished she had a brush, which appeared on the coffee table a second after her thought had formulated. She snatched it up and forced it through her snarled curls in brutal yanks, whipping around when she heard a low snicker.

"Don't you dare laugh!" she snapped, eyes flashing. "Why didn't you wake me up? We're three hours late!"

"Actually, we're not late at all," he replied, still amused. "School has been cancelled."

Hermione stopped brushing. She stared at him, nonplussed. "What do you mean?"

"When I woke up and went down to breakfast – don't give me that look, I was going to come back for you before first period – Headmaster Dippet announced that all classes are cancelled for today. There's been a disturbance."

"What disturbance?"

He gave her a pointed look. "Obviously, if I knew I wouldn't have said quote 'disturbance' unquote," he said drily. "Dippet didn't explain, but the professors seemed upset, especially our hometown hero _Dumbydore_."

Hermione slowly sat down, thinking. "The last time he cancelled school it was because of the essences," she pondered aloud. "Do you think it has to do with them?"

"That's what I was thinking. They might have spread or gotten larger." When she started to stand again he added, "Don't bother, there's nothing we can do about it now. No one is allowed outside of the castle, much less free to roam the halls, and the professors are guarding all exits. Until nighttime we can't do much."

She grimaced. She hated just sitting here when something horrible may have happened outside, something caused by _her_.

"Everyone has been sent to their common room for the day," he continued, returning his dark gaze to Slytherin's Locket. "If we leave we won't be able to meet again until tomorrow."

"What about food?" she asked, for the Room of Requirement didn't supply it. Manifestation defied Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.

"I brought some back from the kitchens." He nodded at a bag on the coffee table. "It's in there."

_He thinks of everything, doesn't he_? Hermione thought, half enviously, half impressed. She opened the knapsack to find a tin of finger foods he must have had the house elves put together. She ate some carrots, watching him thoughtfully. He looked up from the Locket.

Tom cocked a brow at her stare, pocketing it. "Enjoying the view?"

She rolled her eyes. "Your surpassing amount of conceit never fails to astound."

"But you didn't deny it, did you?"

She lay back down on the couch, where she couldn't see him laughing at her. A moment later he reappeared, leaning over the armrest with a sliver of a smile and black eyes that told a thousand lies and hid even more secrets. Hermione looked away. _Liar, liar... _

"You forgot to brush the other half of your hair," he remarked, trailing a finger up her neck. She saw him smirk out of the corner of her eye at her shiver. "Or do you usually wear it this way?"

"Oh shut it, you're just trying to irritate me." Hermione sat up and grabbed the hairbrush off the end table. "Not everyone can have naturally 'lustrous locks,' you know."

"True, but I like yours." He snagged one of her curls, twisting it contemplatively around a long finger. His eyes met hers and he sent a trickle of magic through the strands, where it went straight to her head and made her nerves jolt. "It's _wild."_

"Better yet, it's very easy to grab," he said, leaning close enough his lips hovered just a breath over hers. Teasing. "Untamed." The hairbrush clattered to the floor. "And soft, too."

"You…like…grabbing…my hair?" she said, breathlessly.

"You like to grab mine." He bit the corner of her lip lightly. "I recall you pulling it very tightly last night actually..."

She pulled back, glaring at him, but the threatening look was ruined by the blush on her cheeks. "Would you quit mocking me?"

He grinned. "No, you're too amusing angry, like an ill-tempered kitten."

"Again with the cat analogy?"

"It's an accurate comparison."

Staring at him, Hermione was sorely tempted to forget all her worries for a while, to forget about the essences and Professor Chanté and Meredith Smith. As long as they were there and all of her homework was finished maybe she could…relax a little? With him. Or was that just the magic talking? Speaking of, why wasn't she as angry as she should've been about being bound to him? She hardly even minded that the school day had been cancelled, because it was less time they had to waste spent away from each other. Hermione shook her head, frustrated. _What am I thinking?_ _ I sound like a lovesick idiot. _

"Why do I like being with you so much?" she said, voicing her thoughts. "Is it the bond?"

"Yes." A look of self-satisfaction surfaced at her admission. "It's the most intimate connection in the magical world, more binding than blood and becoming stronger with time. The longer you are with me, the less inclined you'll be to leave."

That explained why it was so strong now after they'd kissed and…done other things, rationalized Hermione. Still, she felt terribly misinformed. And a little terrified. "Does it work both ways?" she said curiously. "Do you feel this way...toward me?"

He paused.

"Yes," he finally answered, watching her closely. He was wary of sharing this information with her. It was something she could use against him, if she needed to.

If she could.

"So it's practically insatiable. This…"

"Desire."

To him, it was both a weakness and a strength. He got Hermione's power and she got his; however, he could hardly leave her side. He wouldn't let her leave his for longer than absolutely necessary. The idea of separation was unappealing, of not being able to watch her every move and protect his magic, a large part of which would soon reside inside her – but he couldn't jeopardize his reputation. Besides, eventually they would leave Hogwarts and he could do whatever he wished. Hermione did not ever have to leave his side, if he wanted, and she would help him become the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen.

She'd finally given into him and the victory of so hard a conquering was delicious, especially when it was her taste on his tongue... literally.

"Can I touch you?" Hermione blurted out beside him.

Startled, he stared at her with a furrowed brow. "What?"

"Can I…can I touch you?" she repeated, more timidly.

"Why?"

"I want to. I think." Her forehead wrinkled, as she did not understand the sudden desire to touch him herself – but Tom recognized the desperateness in her eyes. It was the bond, itching to be fulfilled in whatever way it could, and Hermione was finally feeling the side effects.

"So can I?" she said nervously, fingers twitching uselessly in her lap. Asking for his permission.

His smile was reminiscent to that of the Cheshire cat's. "Of course you can," he purred.

Hermione blushed. How strange, that she should feel anxious to run her hands over the skin of a man filled with so much darkness, to feel reassured by his approval, to feel furious yet more peaceful than a Calming Draught, to want to _bathe _in both their magic forever and ever. Cautiously, she reached for his face and he watched her intently, Cimmerian eyes enigmatic and emotions reserved for safekeeping. Angels had faces like this, with high cheekbones and pouty lips, and eyelashes so long they cast shadows in the dead of night.

Her hands slowed, carefully tracing a tiny white slit below his brow. It was invisible from more than a foot away. "What's that from?" she said.

He frowned. "What?"

"You have a scar here." She rubbed her thumb over it and the crease between his brows went away too, like a wrinkle smoothed out of porcelain clay. "I've never noticed before."

"It's just a scar," he muttered. He wasn't going to tell her where he got it either, but when her brown eyes implored his words started to…slip out. "It's stupid. Mrs. Cole was throwing firewood in the chimney and I was sitting quite close, even though she told us to stay back," he said, remembering how cold it was that February and how cozy the hearth had seemed. "A spark flew out and nipped me." And how the other children had laughed and laughed...

"Mrs. Cole?"

"The head of the orphanage." He watched her raptly. Would she laugh at him now? Sneer and mock him for living with a bunch of lowly Muggles?

"How old were you?"

"Four."

"That explains why it's so small," she murmured, finally continuing her little trek on his skin. Tom looked all the more hauntingly alluring up close and she counted two freckles on his neck, which along with the scar made him seem more human. More touchable.

For the first time, she really wondered how he could possibly transform from the young wizard in front of her into a snakelike, red-eyed _thing _in the future. And what did he do over the summers when he was forced to go back to the orphanage? Were the other children afraid of him? Did he do chores? What did he wear? Did he count the days until school started again?

Hermione's kiss was refreshingly innocent, not demanding or fast, but patient and sweet as candied sugar. He felt like a lazy snake basking in the sun under all that undivided attention.

His breath washed into her mouth in a quiet sigh and Hermione pulled back, watching in fascination as he immediately shut his eyes, seeming to expect her to touch him again. His eyes didn't move behind his eyelids, which looked extremely pale against those ebony lashes and dark brows. He could have been a statue for all of his unearthly stillness.

She trailed her hands down his chest, committing the dips and contours to memory as she moved along. The room was pleasantly quiet around them and Tom's eyes grew hooded when she reached his navel and went past it, idly walking her fingers down the spritz of hair that disappeared underneath his trousers. There, he took her hand and pressed it firmly.

She looked up, breath caught, and he flicked her bottom lip with his thumb. "You haven't given fellatio before, have you?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "N-no," she stuttered.

His lip curled, he liked the idea of being her first. Of teaching her. "I'll show you how to," he murmured. "We might as well make use of all the time we have on our hands after all."

She flushed and he grinned, increasing the pressure on her hand until she felt his length prominently, hardening under her touch. Flustered, Hermione looked down and realized Tom was a bit larger than average, as she could already see the outline of him through his trousers. How hadn't she noticed before?

"Don't be shy, darling," he said, tapping her nose like he thought her nervousness was cute. "Undress me."

Her face was positively flaming. "Oh, um, alright."

He relaxed against the couch. Carefully, she unzipped his trousers and pulled them off along with his boxers. His hand weaved through her hair as she stripped him down until he was naked as the _David_. Which he really did look like, by the way... _Oh Merlin, I'm going to hell._

"What now?" Hermione asked, as if this was Potions and he was walking her through a particularly challenging step. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in her at the analogy, but died fast when she looked back at Tom's erect member. What had those books on sex education said again? No matter, they were all but totally useless to her now. _I knew I should've swiped the Parvati twins' secret stash of eroticas! Blast!_

"Take me with one hand."

She gulped and cautiously did so, glancing up at him searchingly – such an innocent look scraped his insides down to bone with hunger, especially when she nibbled her lip in worry. She looked so…_vulnerable. _Ripe for the taking_._ "I'm going to just-" _Control you. _"-show you," he told her, voice a shade rougher.

"Alright."

Hand still buried in her hair, he brought her head down until her lips were a breath away from his aching length and stiffened when she hesitantly took him in. Hermione had never put her mouth on any man before. Experimentally, she darted her tongue out against the twitching member between her lips.

"More," he growled and Hermione breathed through her nose as she bent down, taking in more of him. His hand clenched her hair and he guided her, pulling her head up and down his member slowly, going further inside her mouth with each stroke. He didn't let go even when she caught on, loving the control too much to pull away. He watched through half-lidded eyes as she worked him, hollowing her cheeks and twisting her tongue around when he told her to. He held her hair - not so it would be out of her way, but so he could see.

She worked his shaft, moaning lightly, and he cursed under his breath at the sensations it induced. His stomach tightened. "_Almost there," _he hissed, Parseltongue subconsciously flying off his tongue. "_Keep going."_

For some reason, knowing _she _was the one undoing him gave Hermione an extreme sense of satisfaction. It aroused her, too, and when Tom tensed, going rigid, she knew what was to come. And she wanted to see him lose that impeccable self-control just once, even if it only lasted for a few seconds...

"Swallow it all and suck hard," he ordered raggedly, digging the fingers of his free hand into the couch tightly, and she hummed, licking the sensitive head once before he came, a stream of foreign hisses whipping out his mouth. She went down as far as she could go and drank all of his release, eyes solely on his mouth, parted and bearing teeth like an animal in a silent snarl.

He finished, chest heaving, and held her there a moment longer. Then he slowly pulled back. Hermione's lips came off him with a pop and she rubbed her neck gingerly. "Kiss me," he said, tilting her head up, and she crawled over to pluck her swollen lips against his. He smirked.

"You did well, darling," he said and she couldn't help but smile, blushing a little. Her magic chittered merrily. "Are you hungry?"

"A bit," Hermione admitted and he sat up, Summoning the bag of treats he'd brought and pulling on his boxers before going through it. He took out a cheese sandwich and split it, putting one half down and bringing the other up to her. She blinked, surprised, and he nudged the bread at her mouth.

"Go on," he said, smiling. "Eat."

He wanted to feed her? Hermione laughed a little but took a bite, leaning back against the couch as she chewed. He watched her, eyes fasted to every shift of weight and fidget she made, and when she was finished he brought the sandwich back again, inching it into her mouth.

"Is it good?"

She nodded, cheeks warming. "Yes."

That dark glint in his eyes augmented. "Yes, Tom," he corrected.

Her blush deepened. "Yes, Tom."

"You're thinking hard about something," he said after a moment, tilting his head inquiringly at her. "What is it?"

"Ho-how did you know that?"

"Your nose crinkled."

"Oh." She touched her nose, frowning. Did it always do that? "Well, I was thinking about Slytherin's Locket," she eventually said. "What do you need it for? I mean, it's just a necklace, isn't it?"

He didn't answer immediately and she waited, wondering if he would tell her the truth or not. Hope welled up in her, unable to be stifled, and she watched him closely as he mulled over his response.

"It belonged to my mother," he finally replied. Disappointed, she thought he wasn't going to continue, but a minute later he spoke again. "It was passed down through her family since the very first class of wizards, generation to generation, and…if she hadn't sold it it would have come to me."

"Who was she?" Hermione asked. "Your mother?"

"Merope Gaunt." Lower, he added, "She was a Squib." Now she would laugh surely, scoff at his disgusting heritage and leave again. He remembered the last time she left and terrible, righteous fury welled in him at the unpleasent memory.

"But you come from a powerful family," Hermione said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"_One _side of my family is notable. The other," he snarled, "is filthy trash."

Hermione's heart sped up. This was a line, one of the limits he'd enforced and would either let her past or hurt her for trying to in the first place. Quietly, she said, "Your father is a Muggle."

"Yes." A tight-lipped smile joined his handsome features, staining them. Tom picked up the sandwich again, now limp and slightly soggy. "Eat, Hermione. Enough questions."

"But I-"

"_Eat._"

She flinched at his caustic tone, taking another bite and eating it quickly. "I'm full!" Hermione said, before he could bring the sandwich back and producing a rare scowl from him.

"You hardly ate anything," he snipped.

"So?"

"You didn't eat dinner yesterday. At least eat…eat something else." He picked up the bag and grabbed a biscuit, shoving it at her. "Here."

"I'm not a child," she muttered petulantly, but took the biscuit and started chewing. Stupid, overly observant Dark Lord…

Tom lifted her wrist, glancing at her watch, and her skin tingled slightly at the contact. She fidgeted. "We can go down in a few hours," he said, breaking the quiet. "The professors should be in bed by then and the only person patrolling the corridors will be that klutz Gregovitch. Even the Prefects have been excused from their duties."

"We're not going back to the Forbidden Forest, are we?" Hermione said worriedly.

"No, it's too dangerous." He leaned back and flipped out Slytherin's Locket again, running his thumb over the gilded surface thoughtfully. "The essences react violently to you for some reason."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We'll go to Dippet's office and have a look around. He usually sneaks off with the librarian Mme. Wiber at about nine-thirty so it will be empty," he said. "He keeps a journal, too, and there should be something in it about what happened today. There may even be information on book essences in his office."

She perked up at that. Of course! Why didn't she think of it? The Headmaster's Office would be filled with all sorts of valuable information neither the Restricted Section nor Room of Requirement could ever come up with. They were bound to find something useful there.

"We just have to make sure Dumbledore doesn't see us," he added disdainfully. "I have no idea why, but he's been watching me like a hawk ever since he returned from his 'heroic battle' against Grindelwald. He suspects me of something."

Hermione tensed at the mention of Dumbledore. "He…he does?" she said, warily.

"Yes. He won't catch us again though," he said, catching her look and sending a wave of calming magic toward her. Hermione's taut body instantly went lax despite her frantic thoughts. "We'll use Disillusionment Charms and wait until he's gone in his office before going out."

"Right," she agreed, although that wasn't what she was worried about. She needed to change the subject. The last thing she wanted was for the topic to broach 'the Mysterious Cloaked Figure.' "Are you, um, going to do anything with that?" Hermione said, stealthily trying to redirect their conversation and succeeding when his inquisitive eyes fell back on Slytherin's Locket.

"I do plan to put it to use," he said vaguely. An idea seemed to suddenly strike him and his lips pursed, eyes swivelling up to stare at her neck for a moment.

"What is it?" she said self-consciously.

"Oh nothing, I was just thinking…" He gently unhooked the small golden clasp of Slytherin's Locket. "How elegant this necklace would look on you."

"_No."_

"Why not?" He smiled, dazzlingly. "I can't find a place to properly store it anyway. What better safe-keeping could there be than my darling's long, lovely neck?"

"It's too expensive," Hermione insisted. "And what if Meredith sees?"

He shrugged. "Keep it tucked under your shirt. It won't be the first time she's been none the wiser." At her unchanging expression, he leaned closer and placed the cold chain around her throat. She heard it click at the nape of her neck and then the priceless locket was lying flat against her chest, gold and heavy with emerald pits and Tom Riddle's ancestry. "Think of it," he whispered, "as a token of my affection."

"I really can't-"

"I'm entrusting this to you," he said, touching the locket with a light hand. "Be careful not to lose it."

Hermione sighed.

"You're such a good girl." He kissed her and her thoughts were suddenly buffeted with a flurry of magic, irresistible and sweet like nectar. She blinked, dazed. "We only have a little time left alone, you know," he murmured.

Tom was right. They only had a little time left... She leaned forward and drew her tongue along the seam of his mouth, pressing her body against his more firmly. His hands rose, grasping her waist and moving her against him. She cupped his cheek. _Insatiable desire, indeed._

His tongue snuck inside her mouth, quickly dominating the kiss, and he rolled them over so she was on her back, rolling his hips into hers. She moaned and twisted her hand in his thick hair, slipping the other between them and grasping his rigid length through his boxers. He pulled back so she could take him out and called on both their magic, bending it to his will as he flicked his wrist. Simultaneously, all the buttons on her shirt sprang off.

"_Tom!_" she hissed and he snickered.

"What? I'm practicing," he said, swiftly ripping off her bra in a way that shouldn't have been humanely possible and throwing it aside to join his shirt on the floor. Before she could puzzle this he had picked her up and captured one of her nipples in his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Her breath hitched.

One hand supported her back and she held onto the couch as he ground his length into her grip, switching breasts when she nearly went off the edge. She cried out when he bit her hard on the neck, drawing blood and moving to another expanse of her tan skin to make more cruel marks. He started grinding into her faster and his mouth met hers again, so harsh and demanding she couldn't keep up. She nearly ran out of oxygen and he pulled back, running his tongue over her beating throat as black dots skipped across her vision. His hand ran up and down her naked side greedily.

She felt like she was being possessed.

"_Mine_," Tom almost sang, sucking on the shell of her ear before releasing it. "Ruined for the rest... Now you'll never belong to anyone else." His low chuckle resonated through her entire body. Eyes, jet-black with lust and darkness, delightedly watched her writhe and buck under his hands. Blood glistened on his teeth.

Hermione gasped when he left another painful bite on her skin and his ecstasy increased at the sound. She knew this wasn't healthy, but she wanted it. Wanted him. _More, more, more, more- _Mouth latching back onto hers, he poured an electrifying stream of magic through her system, setting her body on fire and bursting her brain into flames. She clutched him like a starving fledgling, falling deeper down the black hole, and he hissed above her as she sent some of her magic spiraling back across their bond, speaking that strange serpentine language again. She arched up as he came, sinking his teeth into her shoulder like fangs, but their whirl winding magic glazed the pain with pleasure-

He fell down on top of her, panting, and Hermione waited for her dilated eyes to focus. _That was _nothing_ like last time, _she thought, heart still pounding like it might explode out of her chest any minute now. The stickiness on her stomach was warm and trapped between them.

With some effort, she wriggled her arm free from under him and checked her watch. She grimaced. "Tom, it's almost nine-thirty," she said. "We have to get going."

He mumbled something into the cushions.

"I don't speak jibber jabber," she huffed, trying to shove him off her – but for all the success she made she might as well have been trying to push the Great Wall of China to Tokyo. "Oh come on! Are we going or what?"

"Give me a minute" came the muffled reply.

"To what?"

He glowered at her from behind what she supposed was his sex hair, which was sticking out from where she'd grabbed it numerous times – and indeed, very sexy. "_Recuperate_," he growled and she shut up, blushing.

His head flopped back down and he sighed. She struggled to reach her wand, which had fallen to the floor a few feet away. She tried to do what he had, calling on both their magic and willing it to come over to her. Her wand flew into her grasp easily and she cast a _Scourgify _on both of them, even Summoning his shirt to speed things along.

A minute later he still hadn't moved and she poked him again. Did he fall asleep?

"Recuperated yet?" she asked, smiling innocently when he sent her another death glare.

He sat up, grabbing his shirt from her and sliding it on. "The next time we do this I'm confiscating your watch," he grumbled, brushing his hair back into place with a careless swipe of his fingers. Hermione was dismayed to see it reassemble into perfect waves so quickly. Why couldn't her hair be that manageable?

He turned to her when he was finished and a smirk stretched his mouth. "Why don't you just look good enough to eat?" he commented, dragging a finger between her bare breasts.

Hermione slapped his hand away and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. "You destroyed my bra _and_ shirt," she snapped. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"I'll fix it." Her robes flew over with a flick of his wand. He quirked a finger and the rips and frays seamed together, until her clothes were perfectly stitched and good as new. She put them on and stood, holding out her hand, which he took right before casting a Disillusionment Charm on the both of them.

They vanished from sight and Tom guided them out of the Room of Requirement, through the dead silent castle to the Headmaster's Office. They didn't see Gregovitch once, having only heard him lumber down a distant corridor once when they passed the library. Tom and Hermione waited beside one of the knights and not a minute later the staircase leading to the Headmaster's Office swirled, revealing Dippet stumbling down it in his nightgown. He whisked past them without a second glance, muttering something along the lines of "being late for Angy" before he disappeared around the bend of the corridor.

Tom lifted their Disillusionment Charms. "Stay here," he said, stepping into the open. "If you see Dippet come get me and we'll leave."

He strode up to the gargoyles, uttering _"Never Neverland" _and they slid back. Tom mounted the turning stairs. Within seconds, she was alone.

Hermione waited in the shadows for his return, tapping her foot anxiously. About ten minutes had gone by when suddenly a voice from behind her exclaimed "Hermione?"

She stiffened. _Oh no, not_ _him again!_ But alas, when she had turned around she found Professor Chanté striding toward her, pocketing his wand and glancing up and down the dim corridor for Gregovitch. "What are you doing out here?" he said once close enough, frowning at her.

"I was going to the library," Hermione lied. "I – uh – really wanted to get a book."

He shook his head disapprovingly. "I know you love to read, _ma chérie, _but you can always go to the library tomorrow." The feathery blue plume of his quill bobbed as he stuck it behind his ear, perfectly at home in his sunny gold locks. "I won't give you detention for being out of bed, but you've got to get back to your dorm. Something terrible has happened."

Hermione forced back a spark of annoyance at the pet name. Focusing on what he said, she inquired, "So there will be school tomorrow?"

"Yes." He frowned. "Speaking of, I didn't see you once in the Great Hall today. Have you been feeling well?"

Hermione felt uncomfortable. He'd noticed she wasn't there? Did that mean he watched her during meals? _Ugh, why can't he fancy Augusta or Minerva! They'd love crap like this. _"I'm perfectly fine," she said tartly. "I'll go back to my dorm on my own, _professor_."

"I didn't mean to scare you off yesterday," Professor Chanté said, oblivious to the hint she gave him to leave. "Now that we're here though, I must explain. I know you may harbor feelings or little crushes for boys of your age, but I promise they won't last, Hermione. Seventeen-year old boys don't know how to treat a young lady. I could take care of you." He advanced another foot. "We wouldn't have to tell anyone."

_We wouldn't have to tell anyone. _Was he crazy? And exactly when did she say she wanted to be with him anyway? Trying to be polite, she said, "I apologize, professor, but-"

"Hermione, please don't call me that," he sighed, grasping her shoulders.

She started at the touch. "Fine, _Lucas,_" she said, quickly. Tom would be back here any second and she couldn't let Professor Chanté find out they were breaking into Dippet's office. "I'll think about it, but I-I really have to go!"

He beamed at her and stepped back, nodding. "OK, Hermione. I'll see you tomorrow in class. Remember, if there's anything you ever need to get off your chest or talk about, you can come to me. I'm always here."

She didn't reply and her heart beat fast as he went back down the hall whence he'd come, the gem of light on the end of his wand finally swallowed by darkness a moment later. She forced herself to calm down. Tom would notice it if she was anxious and want to know what happened. He would hurt Professor Chanté badly if he found out about this... but Hermione couldn't have that, for the DADA position didn't become cursed until the '90s. She just had to let down her handsome, yet very weird teacher firmly, without anyone ever knowing he'd all but professed undying love to her.

Salazar.

Hermione looked up when Tom reappeared on the stairs. He came toward her and with surprise, she saw he had a book in his hand. "What is that?" she asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the cover.

"I found it in the back of Dippet's office. It's a book all about essences," he said, but held it out of her reach when she tried to take it. She frowned. "We'll go over it tomorrow," he explained at her look. "Dippet will be back soon and you have to get to your dorm before someone realizes you've been missing all day."

_Someone already did, _Hermione thought, grimly. "Oh alright," she relented. "Did you find out what happened today?"

His brow furrowed. "Hardly. All Dippet said in his journal was 'the Ministry must not return or I shall lose my position. This death must be hidden at all cost'," he quoted. "Quite melodramatic, as per usual with that ancient artifact."

"Death?" she echoed. "Of a student?"

"No, a dead student would be impossible to hide," he said instantly. "It'd be futile to try to cover something like that up."

But then who _did_ die? Hermione thought, chilled. Eyeing him, she said, "Where did you say you found that book?"

"It was in a pile of banned texts. This one was outlawed in 1604. It's very Dark magic." He put said book away in his robes. "We'll meet tomorrow and take a look, but it's getting late now."

"Of course," she said, although she was disappointed they couldn't read it now. "I'll…I'll see you in the morning." He nodded.

But now Hermione hesitated, unwilling to leave after having been with him the entire day. Her magic had been an ever-present aura since she woke up, like a happily humming balm rubbed all over her skin. She knew those sensations would leave her as soon as they separated. Tom picked up on her reluctance and brushed his lips over hers. His felt like velvet.

"It's only a little while, darling," he murmured, speaking in that gentle voice he only used with her.

"I know, but still…" She kissed him once more before pulling away. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course."

Tom watched her leave with his Locket, fingering the book in his robes. He'd read through half of it when she was waiting out here and found out the essences were much more than they seemed. Hermione, as their releaser, was entitled to them – and they were searching for her, like demons seeking out a vessel...

Like with everything else, he could use this to his advantage.

* * *

Hermione's magic faded to a slight buzz as the distance between her and Tom increased, but still remained strong. She stayed quiet as she tiptoed through the castle, not wanting to run into Gregovitch _or _Professor Chanté again.

A blur of black streaked across the hall.

Hermione froze. "Cat?" she whispered, eyes scouring what little light the torches mounted on the walls offered. "Wait, come back!"

At this, a pink nose darted into view, followed by a head of black fur with bottle glass green eyes and a scrawny body. The cat's tail swished above his body questioningly.

"What are you?" she said, not daring to move lest she scare him off.

The cat blinked at her.

"I mean obviously you're a cat, but are you a…death omen?" she said carefully.

The cat tilted his head at her and she was sure she was being silly, believing in Divination and stupid things like the practice of summoning the dead. Of course it was just a cat! It had no idea what she was saying, did it? She snorted, already berating herself, but her scoff cut short when the cat meowed and his back arched as he stretched toward her, head bobbing slowly in a…a nod?

"You can understand me," she said, stunned, and the cat nodded again. OK, so it was a death omen _and_ spoke English. And most certainly nothing like Crookshanks. She pinched herself to be sure she wasn't dreaming.

_Ouch_.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione eyed the feline. "Alright, cat," she said slowly. "Show me who died here today."

The cat sprang to his paws and watched her through green slits. She took a step toward him and he scampered back a foot. She took another. He disappeared down the curve. Quickly, Hermione went down that hall to find the cat there waiting for her, his tail swishing through the air behind him patiently, and when he saw her he got up again and led them the rest of the way.

She followed him through the castle until they arrived at an exit door, which had surely been locked with protective wards and booby traps by a professor. Hermione wasn't sure if she could get through it unscathed this time. If a death had occurred, surely the staff had put up heavier protection, and there was no telling what would happen if she triggered them. For all she knew, they could explode like land mines at the prick of a finger.

When Hermione hesitated the cat skittered around her feet in a dizzying circle and his head nudged her ankle, urging her toward the door. "I can't go through it," she explained. "It's locked."

"_Somebody out there?"_

At the sound of Gregovitch's voice, Hermione acted fast, retreating into the outskirts of the corridor. The old caretaker hobbled down the hall not a moment later and his shaky hand, which always trembled from his arthritis, held out a lantern before him. He swept it back and forth, beams swishing up and down the walls in glowing splashes, and his discolored eyes gleamed alertly for troublemakers. Hermione waved her hands at the cat, urging it to get out of the way before Gregovitch ran right over it. It didn't move though, continuing to stare at her intently.

Hermione's jaw dropped when Gregovitch walked right _through _the cat, as if it was a phantom, and he continued right on down the hall grumbling. He hadn't seen anything.

_That doesn't make sense, _she thought, stepping out again and experimentally reaching down to pet the cat's head. It was solid. Even more intriguing, strange runes formed a crown embedded in his fur. What were those…?

She didn't have any time to further puzzle over this, however, because the cat wriggled out from under her hand and scampered over to the door again. She bit her lip and went over to it, and the cat waltzed through the door like it was made of smoke. Hermione took a deep breath and followed suit, a shocked gasp escaping her when she arrived outside.

Did the cat do that?

She couldn't ask though, because the cat was already trotting down a warbly path leading to the Forbidden Forest. Hermione hurried after it, trepidation making her heart sing a nervous song. _This isn't a good idea. This isn't a good idea at all!_

"Listen, I really can't go in there," she tried to explain, panting. "Where are you taking me?"

The cat didn't respond and surprised her by springing off the trail, scampering into darkness. _Lumos! _she nonverbally cast and lifted her lit wand, seeing the cat stop about twenty feet away from the Forbidden Forest, which was thick with what looked like smoke but were actually essences. His eyes glowed in the dark like neon lanterns. Hermione swallowed and steeled herself, stepping forward.

Her stomach rolled at what she found lying stone-still just behind the cat. It was a dead centaur and he had been _mutilated_. His sky blue eyes were open and unseeing, corded neck bent at a terrible angle while his long elegant legs had been folded unnaturally in some sort of sick version of origami.

"Who did this?" Hermione whispered and the cat rolled onto his back, bright eyes staring up above her. She followed the feline's gaze to see the essences swallowing half the sky, stirring like a gigantic storm cloud ready to throw out a bolt of lightning. She shuddered. "But _why_?"

She looked down at the cat for an answer – he was gone.

Hairs on the back of her neck prickling, Hermione took one last look at the centaur. A maggot wriggled across his unseeing eye and she thought she saw it twitch under her gaze. Shaking her head, she tore her eyes away and ran, far from the Forbidden Forest. Far, far away from the dark.

* * *

**AN: Hmmm… I wonder what Tom will think of Hermione's little escapade? I wonder what _you all _think of the chapter? (ahem, pretty please review.) Thanks for reading! MUAHMUAH *sloppy kisses* D**


	20. the Very Darkest Corners

**AN: OMG. You little whores, it's chapter twenty! _Twenty._ I think, by now, we can all agree that Tom is an undeniably sexy knickers-dropper whose up to no good? And that Professor Chanté is kinda sleazy? And we like to see Tom Riddle shirtless, yes, yes?**

**Seriously.**

**I know you want You-Know-What. _I__ know. _**

* * *

The girls paid close attention to Elphy Wictz as she gabbed about her latest fancy; some 'swoon-worthy' Ravenclaw in her Transfiguration class she snogged behind the Quidditch Pitch fifth period. Fabia and Rosy, perched on Hermione's unmade bed, flipped through _Witch Weekly_ and listened to the Slytheriness prattle while Hermione herself slipped the school skirt on over her stockings. Fabia offered to let her borrow some mascara, but she declined, pocketing her wand and turning to the others with a beaming smile far too bright for a Monday morning.

"Ready to go?" she asked and they nodded, moving to their feet to head out of the dormitory. Fabia waved goodbye to Meredith, who returned the gesture half-heartedly.

"When is she going to stop moping around?" Rosy grumbled once the door had swung shut.

Elphy shrugged. "Until someone starts feeding her attention again probably."

"I already tried that," Fabia said, glancing back at the dorm worriedly. "She's still acting odd though."

Hermione touched Slytherin's Locket, hidden away from prying eyes under her blouse but feeling much heavier than gold as it weighed down on her chest. She couldn't help feeling guilty as the girls worried over their friend. Was Meredith really just being sulky, or was it something more? Ever since she'd been released from the hospital wing she had been acting very strange, talking less and looking thinner. She wasn't a zombie, but she wasn't the same mean, snobby girl she used to be either.

_Isn't that a good thing though?_

What was so bad about Meredith being a little quiet? She wasn't a nuisance anymore. Besides, Hermione had done her part already by finding her in that classroom the night of Slughorn's soiree and alerting Gregovitch. If she hadn't, Meredith wouldn't even be _alive_ to be grumpy right now. Right?

"Hey Hermione." A passing Slytherin she didn't know the name of said the greeting casually, giving her a friendly nod of his head before continuing down the hall. Hermione blinked in surprise. Rosy gave her a shrug.

The girls rounded the bend and found the usual school cliques – mainly the fifth and sixth years – relaxing on the window sills framing the first floor hallways and clustered in the misty courtyards outside. Half of the Slytherin Quidditch team looked up at their approach, bored expressions eclipsed by lazy smiles and finger wriggles as they walked by. Hermione heard Elphy snort "you wish" under her breath.

"I like your hair today, Hermione," Fabia said suddenly.

"Me too," Rosy pitched in. "It makes you look older."

"Would you two quit it?" said Elphy, rolling her smoky green eyes in exasperation. "You're acting like hungry strays begging for a scrap of food."

"What kind of analogy is that?" Rosy scoffed and Elphy shrugged, examining the nails she painted turquoise to match her silk scarf this morning. Elphy, Hermione knew, would never own up to one of her downright horrendous metaphors.

"Well, no one asked you anyway," Fabia said, dismissively. "I don't see what's so wrong with being nice."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with it at all, dear Fab." So quietly, that only Hermione could hear, she added in a sing-song "_kiss ups_." They shared a grin and laughed secretly, locking elbows much to the chagrin of Rosy and an annoyed Fabia.

Hermione looked away from her friends to find Augusta, the-tougher-than-nails Head Girl, consulting two Ravenclaw Prefects in the corridor. She waved to her, but instead of returning the friendly hello Augusta's eyes fell on the Slytherins at her side and slanted. She faltered.

"Fatbottom's hair looks like an exploded haystack, does it not?" muttered Rosy behind her.

"Perhaps there is a Quaffle hiding in there from Quidditch practice?" Fabia suggested.

They burst into laughter.

Hermione ground to a halt and spun around, eyes flashing. "_Augusta_ happens to be my friend," she said sharply, "and I think she looks perfectly fine. Wouldn't you two agree?"

The girls stared at her, faces going bright red and fidgeting. Elphy howled with delighted laughter.

"Sorry, Hermione," Fabia said contritely, sending Elphy a withering glare the latter girl simply smiled at. "We didn't know." Rosy agreed, offering to give her the treats her auntie was sure to send her via owl at breakfast.

"No, no, it's fine," she sighed. "Sorry. I'm just a little…on edge this morning. I didn't get too much sleep last night."

They nodded sympathetically.

When the Slytherins entered the Great Hall it was to find Tom hadn't arrived yet. Hermione sat in her usual seat, tapping her nails on the mahogany tabletop with some agitation. The truth was, she felt so antsy because her magic was misbehaving again, seeking its counterpart and racking up her nerves as it charged the air. She struggled to control it and was grateful when Rosy spoke up, providing a distraction.

"Look what my owl brought me!" she exclaimed, untying the petite package a large, windblown bird had delivered a minute ago. "I hope it's something with chocolate..."

"Is it your auntie again?" Elphy said and uninterestedly picked apart her own delivery, which turned out to be a fashion magazine sent straight from Paris. Fabia was nibbling on the gourmet peppermint bark her parents sent her.

"Yes. She's sent me chocolate Galleons and licorice whip," Rosy reported. She offered a chocolate Galleon to each of the girls, giving two extra to Hermione even though she protested and passing one to Abraxas when he whined that she never shared anything with him. Elphy declined hers, she was dieting again.

Regulus arrived then, swaggering toward them with a wide grin and another incomplete Divinations assignment tucked under his arm. "Ooh, what do we have here?" he said nosily, leaning in to see.

"It's Rosy's," Hermione said and pointed at the girl in question. Regulus turned to Rosy Parkinson, flashing her a winning smile.

"You know you're my favorite, don't you?" he began, but was cut off when she threw him a licorice whip. "Thanks!" He sat down, sticking the candy in his mouth, and opened his schoolbag to get out a quill and inkwell. The empty blanks of his Divinations assignment grated Hermione's eyes.

"Can I 'ave some?" a voice said suddenly from a row down.

At this, nearly the entire table stiffened and turned to direct cold stares at Alecto Carrow. The silence was broken by Abraxas, who muttered perplexedly, "Was that English?"

"Oh no, Abraxas, you are mistaken," said Elphy, seriously. "That was rat-speak. Everyone knows dear Alecto here was born and raised in the sewer-"

Her words were cut off by everyone's laughter and Alecto shrank, ducking her head and mumbling "never mind, 'at was stupid…"

"How many times do we have to tell you, _rat_?" Abraxas sneered. "We don' speak no rat-talk!"

This induced another round of sniggers and Hermione looked away from Alecto's face, pink with mortification and the strain of suppressed tears. She half-wanted to tell Abraxas off for being such a jerk, but was distracted by the sight of the doors opening - and swinging back to reveal Tom Riddle.

Only a few of his intimidating cronies backed him at this hour - Dolohov, Crabbe and Goyle – but she didn't notice them at all as he crossed the floors toward the Slytherin section. Her magic calmed the closer he became, reducing to a cheerful hum embroidered on her skin yet waxing in strength when his magic loomed close enough to touch. He looked impeccable. Not a hair out of place, school robes pressed, and the Head Boy badge pinned to his right lapel yellower than butterscotch under the glowing candlelight of the Great Hall.

She wished she could close the space between them faster.

The other Slytherins realized their leader's presence and calmed down quickly, all polite smiles and greetings as the Head Boy took his seat. "Sleep well, Tom?" Abraxas said smilingly and was ignored as the wizard in question started filling a plate. Fabia and Rosy cast him sideways glances, conversation hushing to girlish giggles and whispers.

"Morning Tom," Hermione said quietly.

Black eyes met hers, somehow managing to be both intense and emotionless as a Classical Greek sculpture all at once, and she felt her neck go hot. A slight smirk tugged his lips. "Darling" was all he said.

Slytherin's Locket, although not yet a Horcrux, seemed to heat when she looked up at the staff table in time to see Dumbledore glance away, a deep frown etched on his mouth. She blanched as realization hit her. What was she _doing?_ They were in the vicinity of a great wizard! He, like them, could sense exceptionally strong magic and would find them out – but he couldn't possibly know about their connection yet, could he? _He _is _powerful though, _she thought. If anything, he probably sensed both their magic strengthening, and Dumbledore was bright enough to connect the dots sooner rather than later. The question was: what would he do once he figured it out?

Past Dumbledore, Professor Chanté was chatting up the Muggle Studies teacher.

Hermione felt a sour twinge in her stomach at the sight of the DADA professor. For despite all his charms and every other female in the student body being taken with him, the fervency with which he'd confessed his 'feelings' for her a few days ago hadn't wooed Hermione but made her feel extremely uncomfortable. Last night had been the worst and now she would have to tell him once and for all she didn't return his feelings. If that's what they even were.

That was sure to be awkward.

"What is it?" Tom said, too sharp not to feel the shift of her emotions through the bond and dark gaze inquiring. "Hermione?"

She cleared her throat. "Nothing, I was just-"

"It doesn't seem like nothing." He followed her gaze to the staff table, eyes narrowing. "Was Dumbydore watching us again?"

"Well, yes," she admitted and had to stop herself from telling him about Professor Chanté too. What good would that do? She couldn't blab every problem she had to him, even if the connection between them urged her to tell no lies and enforce no barriers between them. In a lower voice, she said, "I think he senses our magic."

"Of course he does, the nosy old coot," he said contemptuously. "We'll have to learn to control it if we want to keep him in the dark."

"How? The only way we can right now is when we're close to each other," she pointed out. "And even now, I feel…"

"Anxious."

She nodded, shifting closer and rubbing the hand between hers in a futile attempt to calm the demanding magic building inside her. He let her.

"When I leave over Christmas break you will come with me," Tom suddenly said, surprising her. "We'll be able to practice controlling our magic without interruption then."

"But where are we going?"

"Not too far."

It was probably the best answer she was going to get, for now.

Suddenly, Hermione remembered what she'd seen last night, and while everyone else seemed to not care why school had been cancelled yesterday _she_ found the reason and was greatly perturbed by it. Dumbledore, she noted, also looked less merry than usual. "Tom, when we leave I have to tell you something important," she whispered, voice hardly audible over all the noise in the Great Hall. "It has to do with the essences."

He glanced at her, interest piqued, and nodded. She restlessly waited for breakfast to end, watching the clock mounted on the far wall raptly.

Five minutes before the warning bell rang, Tom stood and the Slytherins at the table exchanged knowing smirks as he and Hermione left the hall. Elphy hushed their sniggers and sassily told them to mind their own business.

"Poor Professor Chanté," Rosy said woefully. "He's probably heartbroken."

When Fabia and Elphy asked what the bloody hell she was talking about she explained, with a secret smile, what happened a few days ago in DADA…

Outside, Hermione and Tom slipped behind the tapestry and into the secret passageway leading to the Potions classroom. Tom immediately pulled her against him, something deep inside breathing out a sigh of relief when he felt her body click into his like a missing puzzle piece. "What did you have to tell me?" he asked softly, combing his fingers through her incorrigible hair and laying a kiss on her forehead.

"I-I found out who died yesterday." She bit her lip. "Do you remember how I asked Regulus about those death omens?"

"How could I forget?" he said, faux lightly. Doubt crept on him. "Why? Do you have feelings for Black?"

She scowled. "_No _and I'll thank you for not jumping to conclusions," she said tartly. "But I asked him about them in the first place because ever since I accidentally released the essences I've been...seeing strange things."

"Such as?" he prodded, remembering the book he had spent all night reading.

Hermione flushed. "This black cat. I thought it was an Animagus at first or someone's pet, but then I started seeing it in the halls. No one else ever saw it, so I thought I might be imagining things. That was when I overheard Regulus talking about this essay for Divination-"

"'The Truth in Superstitions'," he supplied, nodding.

"Yes, that. Regulus also mentioned something about black cats so I thought that maybe I wasn't hallucinating, but seeing death omens," she finished timidly. Surely, now he would call her completely crazy.

But he didn't, surprising her by saying "This started when you first performed the ritual?"

"Yes, a day or two after. I first saw the cat on my way to meet you at the Quidditch Pitch actually, but I didn't think anything of it." She hesitated. "And then I saw it again last night."

He raised a brow.

"I – um – talked to it. I asked it who had died yesterday and it led me to-"

"You actually _followed _the thing?" he interrupted, exasperated. "Hermione, do you know how dangerous that is-?"

"But I had to! I can't explain it, it was like an instinct – and the strangest thing happened, too. Gregovitch showed up and he didn't see the cat at all, he even walked right through it, and then the cat went through a door going outside and I went after it." His jaw clenched, eyes flashing, and she quickly added, "Nothing happened. I mean, it took me close to the Forbidden Forest but-"

_Now _he was angry. "Didn't I say it was too risky to go there?"

"I didn't go very close though," Hermione protested, unknowingly pushing him even closer to the edge. "But the cat took me to a…a body right outside of the forest. They probably cleared it away by now since Dippet is trying to cover this up – but Tom, listen, it was a _centaur_. I think the essences killed it."

He was still glaring at her. "I don't care about a fucking centaur," he hissed. "What if the cat went tromping right into the Forbidden Forest, would you have gone in?"

"Of course n-"

"If you did, you'd be dead too." She flinched and his death grip on her tightened, making her squirm. "You have to be smarter than that, Hermione-"

"I know, but I-"

"_Stop interrupting me!" _

She froze.

"That was incredibly stupid of you," he said coldly and she lowered her eyes at the seething contempt in his voice. "Don't do this again." She nodded.

"Promise me," he pressed, taking her chin and forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were glossy. "I'm only doing this for your own good, you know," he sighed. "Or do you have a death wish?"

"Of course not," she sniffled.

"Then promise you won't go back out there without me." The fingers clasping her jaw were painfully tight. "Apologize for making me worry."

"I promise and I'm sorry."

He glanced over the tear glistening on her cheek and swiped it away with his thumb, staring at the shining drop with some vague interest. "Potions started ten minutes ago," he stated.

Hermione frowned. Had she annoyed him that badly? Did he want to leave? Hesitantly, she said, "Can't we stay here, just for this class?"

"Maybe."

"You're still angry."

"Aren't you sharp?" he snapped. His eyes wandered over her, reminding her of a hungry shark eying raw meat. "But perhaps," he said lowly, "you could make it up to me."

"Um, alright." His temper scared her, whether it was roaring hot like Fiendfyre or cold and calculating. Besides, she didn't want him to be unhappy with her. Her magic rebelled against the mere notion. "What should I… what should I do?"

He leaned back against the bumpy brick wall, tucking his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked amused. "I'm sure you can think of _something_," he drawled, "since you're so very... smart."

An expectant silence fell.

_Oh. _Hermione blushed as it clicked. "You mean…in here?"

"Yes, right now." He smiled at her flustered state. She really was sugar-sweet. "Don't you want to make up for what you've done?" he asked, looking at her from under long lashes that were surely the envy of a dozen archangels. "Didn't you miss me?"

"I did," she admitted, smiling a little. "I kept snapping at everyone until you showed up."

He kissed away the last of reluctance in her unsure eyes. "Prove it."

"A-alright." She slowly sank down in front of him. The floor pinched her knees. "How long until next period starts?" she asked, biting her lip and feeling extremely – well – _naughty_.

"Thirty-five minutes." His hand slid into her hair, pulling out the ponytail so he could freely roam through it. "We've plenty of time, darling."

Hermione's freed curls fell down her shoulders as she unzipped his trousers. Carefully, she pulled out his soft member and placed her hand around the base, shutting her eyes and licking her tongue up the underside of his shaft until she reached the head. She swirled her tongue around the tip, kissing it for a while, and he started to harden as she took him in her wet mouth.

His fingers fastened on the back of her head and he groaned, pushing her down farther until the tip of his member hit her throat. Sucking, she came back up his shaft before going down again and repeating her ministrations. His scrotum tightened and he bit back a hiss at the sight of her sucking him off in Hogwarts uniform – and right before second period.

"Fuck…oh _fuck_."His head hit the wall and she sped up as he approached his release, flitting her fingers over his balls and inducing an automatic jerk from him.

Cursing, he pulled her head back and rocked his hips forward and backward, sliding in and out of her moaning mouth penetratingly."Swallow, no Cleaning Charms," he said roughly, quickening pace. "You're going to taste me all bloody morning."

She hummed and then his seed was spilling down her throat, member convulsing as he came. He snarled a stream of Parseltongue, holding her there until he was finished and panting. He slowly pulled out.

"No Healing Charms either," he added as an afterthought, running his fingers over Hermione's bruised mouth while she fastened his trousers. "Not yet."

She started. "But what if someone-?"

"What anyone else thinks doesn't matter," he cut in, lifting her to feet, "and if they know it's me you're sucking off between classes…" He smirked. "All the better."

Hermione blinked and he tipped back her chin, examining her neck. It was circled by the champagne-gold chain of his Locket and, on the very bottom under her blouse, imprinted with the bite marks he left from yesterday. They were vivid purple and glowing. He laid his lips on one and she winced, jumping slightly. "Do you have any others?" he murmured.

_So that's what he kissed?_ "Just a few," she said, embarrassed. But the truth was her body was kind of horrifying to look at sans robes. A collage of purple, yellow, and black.

"Why didn't you heal them?" he said and continued to pull her shirt down further, admiring his work. A trail of unkind love bites vanished under her bra and he pulled that down too, finding more and tracing them.

Her face was most certainly red now. "I…I didn't want to, I suppose."

"How come?"

"I-I like them," she said, so quietly he almost didn't hear it, and he laughed to hear the confession.

"Me too." He quickly covered her lips with his again before she could say anything. His tongue tugged at hers insistently and he growled at the taste of himself coating her mouth-

The bell rang shrilly and outside, the halls rushed with the sound of milling students. Tom cursed.

"Perfect timing as always," he muttered, pulling away, and Hermione chuckled at the irritation plain on his face. He rolled his eyes.

* * *

At the end of Herbology, Hermione was about to leave with Regulus, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She turned around.

"Oh, hi Augusta," she greeted, surprised. "How's it going?"

"We need to talk."

She blinked at the sternness in the Head Girl's normally playful gaze. "Er, alright?" Regulus looked at her strangely, but she waved him on with a smile. "I'll see you at lunch, Reg."

"You sure you don't want me to stay?" His eyes were hard and fasted on Augusta, who openly glared back at him. "It wouldn't be any trouble."

"Of course I am." Hermione gave him a push, the bossy Prefect that never quite died in her sparking to life suddenly. "Go to class, Regulus. I don't want to make you late."

He looked put out. "Oh alright, have it your way," he grumbled and sent Augusta one last threatening look before moving away into the sea of students.

Hermione laughed awkwardly once he was out of hearing range. "Sorry, I don't know what that was about."

"Black is nutters." Augusta cast another suspicious, untrusting look after Regulus' retreating back before she turned her eyes on Hermione, crossing her toned arms and frowning down at her. "All the Slytherins are, which is why I want to know… what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just checking up on you, 'Mione." She shrugged. "I mean, I wouldn't know whether you're alright or not, now would I? You don't ever talk to Minerva and me anymore. You've been so busy _cozying_ _up_ to the snakes."

Hermione frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Listen, it's just that ever since you started hanging out with Elphy Wictz you've been acting…differently." At her bewildered look, the Head Girl explained, "I mean, those bitches are acting like you're their bloody queen or something now that Meredith has gone off the deep end. Don't you see the way they follow you around?"

"Those 'bitches' are my friends and they don't follow me anywhere, much less think I'm royalty," Hermione said temperously. The way Augusta was acting now, she could hardly believe she had defended her this morning.

"Oh please, Hermione, don't fool yourself. Those girls aren't your friends," Augusta scoffed. "If they were they wouldn't have waited until the second month of school to stop bullying you! Or did you conveniently 'forget' about all that?"

"You don't know them."

"You've been here less than six months, Hermione. I've been watching the Slytherins for the past seven years, and maybe I don't have tea or talk boys with them, but I do know that if they drop you it is a _long_ way to fall. Just look at Meredith Smith."

"Mer…Meredith is fine," Hermione said, faintly. The Slytherin Locket seemed to burn hot at the mention of the girl. "And what are you trying to say anyway, Augusta? Do you want me to pick one of you or something?"

"It shouldn't be hard. Minny and I are your real friends."

Hermione looked at her incredulously. "And they can't be my friends too?"

"Of course not!" Augusta exploded. "Oh come on, what are you, blind? They're snobby and mean. They conspired with Meredith and you know how I feel about her, Hermione-"

She groaned. "You can't be serious."

"I am, actually," Augusta snapped. "It's us or them. I won't be friends with_ the Slytherin Princess_."

"Slytherin what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I mean," the Head Girl sniffed. "I knew you were a little odd when you first came to Hogwarts, but I thought you would change. I thought you even had some Gryffindor in you-"

"What do you mean 'odd'?"

"You don't act right. You're reckless and you sneak around with boys twenty-four seven. Black, Malfoy, _Tom Riddle! _I thought it was just rumors at first, but I can see now you're just as big a skank as Meredith-"

"Oh, that's rich. You're listening to rumors now?" Hermione snorted. "Gee, what a reliable resource! Let me guess, Richie told you he heard I was 'sneaking around' from some Hufflepuff who heard it from a Ravenclaw who heard it from the caretaker, Gregovitch-"

"Your duel against Meredith seemed impressive at first, but no proper lady should know such dangerous spells. You're never going to get married if you keep up this behavior, you know." Hermione gaped at her and Augusta plunged on, hissing, "And as if that wasn't bad enough, Minny says she saw you and Professor Chanté together on Monday. And it's not just her either! Things are going around about you and him-"

She shook her head sadly. "So that's what this is all about, your crush on the Defense professor?"

"At least I have enough self-respect not to throw myself at him. A-and it's not like I wanted to believe any of those rumors at first, but what am I supposed to think? You don't talk to me anymore." Chest heaving, she spat, "Minny and I see you rushing to class all the time. What are you doing with him, huh? Trying to get an Outstanding in DADA or shagging-?"

"Put your claws down, Gryffindor," Abraxas drawled, suddenly appearing at Hermione's side. He regarded Augusta disdainfully. "Fatbottom's your friend?" he muttered in blatant surprise.

Hermione felt cold. "She used to be."

"UGH!" Augusta whirled around, stomping off. "Go to hell, Granger," she yelled and everyone burst out laughing. Looking around, Hermione realized an audience had accumulated to watch the Head Girl butt heads with the not-so-new-new-girl. She flushed.

"Come along, love," Abraxas said, putting his hand on her back and ushering her through the gathered crowd. "Make way, make way," he shouted and some Gryffindors booed her, which was disheartening, while a few other students even offered high-fives that Abraxas waved off. Hermione only remembered he was in her Arithmancy class when he took them down a corridor leading to the classroom.

Abraxas dropped his hand. "So what was that about?"

"Just stupid school drama," she grumbled. Magic hissed over her skin in angry bursts at the reminder.

"Well, if Fatbottom messes with you again let me know, eh?" he said, cracking his knuckles. "I'll take care of it."

Hermione looked over at him, startled by the sudden menace in those icy blue eyes - although, rationally, she shouldn't have been. But she had forgotten he was one of Tom's Death Eaters, forgotten the so very dark side of her new friends in Slytherin, and when the dark side of Abraxas came out of hiding she was reminded of this fact vividly. One day, he and his predecessors would _Crucio_ innocents at the snap of the Dark Lord's fingers. How could she forget this? How could she let herself become so utterly distracted, so infatuated with Tom Riddle and all his snakes?

What was happening to her?

"Oh, um…that's alright, Abraxas. I don't want to hurt her," Hermione said, trying to come off as casual. "I'll be fine."

The Slytherin smirked. "I wouldn't hex a witch, Hermione," he whispered mischievously. "Have you forgotten that I'm a Malfoy? My family history traces back eons farther than hers. I could ask my father and he would drop the Longbottoms in the toilet in a heartbeat."

He squeezed her shoulder, warmly. "All you have to do is ask."

* * *

After Arithmancy Hermione went to Transfiguration, keeping a tight lid on her magic since both Dumbledore and Tom were in this class. It was imperative Dumbledore did not find out they were magically bound, for other than his ever-present suspicion for Tom binding magic was an ancient and highly illegal practice. The combination of two powerful wizards could be extremely dangerous and unpredictable, after all, and if the Ministry hated anything it was a threat. If Dumbledore were to report them… they could end up in Azkaban.

_Just keep it under control, _she told herself.

Hermione tried not to - she really did - but couldn't help glancing up when Tom walked in. It was like an instinct; they came close and their bodies immediately reacted, as did their magic. However, this time she kept hers down to a low hum, even though it wanted to burst out of her like a birthing star through any outlet available. She averted her eyes and didn't miss the way Dumbledore glanced between her and Tom curiously.

For the rest of class, she didn't look at Tom once and did her best to act normal. Participate. Ask and answer questions as if she wasn't counting the minutes until the lesson was over with – a first, for her.

When the bell rang she all but sprinted out of the room, fleeing to the abandoned girl's toilet and buckling against the door once it had slammed shut behind her. Her heart was pounding. She couldn't endure lunch without doing something rash – like pouncing Tom and ripping his clothes off, for instance. Hermione groaned. _What's happening to me?_

"Miss Granger, I haven't seen you in several fortnights," Helena Ravenclaw's haughty voice remarked and she looked up to see the beautiful ghost lounging on a stall door casually. Her long hair, the texture and color of white gossamer, hung down her shoulders in shimmery ripples and ended at her ankles. "What have you been up to, young witch? Exacting revenge on Mr. Riddle?"

"No, unfortunately." Unless by exacting revenge, Helena Ravenclaw meant going down on You-Know-What when she was supposed to be in Potions. _Oh Merlin._ She buried her face in her hands. "Everything is falling apart," she confessed. "I came here feeling one thing for him: _hatred, _but now I feel…"

"Love?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, although her heart skipped a beat at the impossible word. "He's just not what I expected."

"I see you two sneaking off to wherever you go at night all the time. You're a hot topic amongst the nonliving, naturally," Helena said, reaching up to trail a phantom finger over the chipping ceiling. When her hand went through it, she scowled. "We obviously have no lives."

"It's not what it looks like, Helena-"

"Dear, I've been around for centuries," she interrupted drily. "I think I know courtship when I see it and it seems that Mr. Riddle is very taken with you, even if he has a hard time showing it."

That was an understatement.

"I also know Lucas Chanté has made advancements on you," the ghost added.

"How do you know that?" she said, boggled.

"Headless Nick saw you two last night." Helena shrugged elegantly. "You rejected his, ahem, affections?"

"I did and I am most definitely _not_ interested," Hermione said firmly and simmered inside, remembering what Augusta said with a flash of anger. She officially had a new dislike for Neville's grandmother.

And another reason to end things with Professor Chanté immediately.

"You better tell him soon, fair lady," Helena breathed and her silky voice echoed off the walls like a resonating gong. _'Fair lady, fair lady, fair lady…' _"I refused a man once, you know. He was a baron."

"What happened?"

"He hunted me down and killed me."

"Oh."

"Now, I might remind you that you still owe me a favor for guarding your potion a few weeks prior," Helena said, tilting her head at her. "Do you recall?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione replied. "Have you thought of something?"

"Not yet. I'll let you know when I do." She stood and floated into the air, vanishing through the wall without so much as a wave goodbye.

"Nice talking to you," Hermione muttered sarcastically, but the empty lavatory did not reply and she got to her feet, wiping off her bottom. She reached in her schoolbag, taking out a smaller, beaded sack – the only thing she had from the future beside her memories. Memories, which, she was not sure she even wanted anymore. Friends whose faces became blurrier and less distinct with each passing day…

Well then, since she was changing the task up Hermione had decided to simply hide the Elder Wand until further use – and then she would destroy it. She rifled through the endless contents of her bag for a minute before finding the Elder Wand. Her hand closed around the ornately-carved handle and she pulled the thin stick out, watching it glint in the bathroom light thoughtfully.

She was tempted to cast another spell.

_Focus. _She shook herself and walked up to the sinks, tapping one of the serpent-necked faucets with _her _wand and casting a Locking Charm on the door as it unscrewed, landing with a heavy thud in the sink. She peered down the empty pipe, circling the rusty rim with her thumb. It was a Muggle hiding spot, but in a school of witchcraft and wizardry, who would think to look inside something trivial as a sink?

She slid the Elder Wand carefully down the silver throat, whispering a Temporary Sticking Charm, and twisted the snaky head back on. It would do for now.

The bell rang.

Today turned out to be test day in Defense, and as Hermione sat down next to Rosy at their table Professor Chanté began to hand out the promised quiz on the Japanese water dieties _kappa_. Classroom chatter faded to a mutter and then buzz before finally going quiet.

When the professor reached Hermione's desk he smiled at her encouragingly, whispering "I don't doubt you'll get anything less than an O, Hermione." Her neck colored and he chuckled, moving on.

Where he'd stood, she now saw Minerva on the other side of the room staring at her through narrowed eyes and shaking her head disgustedly as she turned back to her parchment. _It's not what it looks like, you can have him! _Hermione wanted to scream, but why would Minerva McGonagall believe her? Augusta was right. They didn't even talk anymore.

Hermione finished mere minutes after Tom and stared at her knotted hands, for the first time that day not nervous because Tom Riddle was too far away, but because of what she had to do after class once he left. He seemed to sense her agitation through the bond, for seconds later she felt a pair of dark eyes boring into her. She pretended not to notice.

Finally, class came to an end, and it was Professor Chanté who casually asked Hermione to stay after class. She nodded and Tom started to come over, but Rosy - thank Merlin for Nosy Rosy - distracted him, hurrying him out along with Dolohov by retelling some story of Regulus setting his pants on fire in their third-year Charms class. She sent Hermione a meaningful wink behind his back.

The door clicked shut.

Hermione stood by it, hands starting to sweat as the seconds ticked by. She was unwilling to go over to Professor Chanté's desk on the other side of the room, but not chicken enough to just up and leave either. And so she waited, watching warily as Lucas Chanté approached her.

"Professor," she said in what was hopefully a perfectly polite - and not at all nervy - voice. "How are you?"

He frowned slightly at the title, but didn't comment on it, nor her question. "Did you think over my proposal?" he asked.

Hermione fidgeted. "I did… but professor it's really better that we – um - maintain a professional relationship. Sorry," she added hastily.

"_Ma chérie, _I promise no one would know." He ran his hand down her cheek and she cringed. _So much for being direct._ "Your school career would be in no way jeopardized."

"No, professor, you misunderstand. I mean I-I do not returnyour feelings."

He laughed, stepping closer and catching one of her hands. "Don't be silly, I know you feel it too. We have chemistry."

"Professor, you're - not - listening - to - me," she grunted, yanking herself out of his grip.

_WHAM! _Her head snapped back and slammed up against the door, smacking the thick wood hard. Sparkly snowflakes flitted across the ceiling. _What the-?_

"It's _Lucas_," he repeated, sounding annoyed. Hermione stared back at him with wide eyes. "I'm not that much older than you, you know. I'm only twenty-nine and I don't want to stay holed up in this dusty castle forever." He smiled, but the usual charming grin was strained. Tighter. "I suspect you don't either. _In_ _fact_, why don't we get out of here tonight? Just for a little while."

"I-I don't want to," she said shakily. "You need to l-let go of me, professor."

"Do I?" His blue eyes wandered over her slowly, making her flesh crawl, and she would have crossed her arms over her chest if he wasn't pinning her to the door. Her wand, unfortunately, was in her back pocket where she couldn't reach it. Hexing him was a no-go. _Think, think! _her mind screamed, but she couldn't come up with anything over the frantic pounding in her chest. "Who says so?"

"I do. And I _don't _want you," Hermione said firmly, staring into his eyes with conviction. His smile dropped at that.

"You do realize who you're talking to, don't you?" Professor Chanté scoffed at her icy glare. "Oh Hermione, I could fail you so fast it'd make your head spin."

_"Get off me."_

"No."

His mouth came down on hers and she shrieked, struggling against him, but he grabbed her beating fists and held them back. She yelped and he forced his tongue inside her mouth. At the same time, his hands were pulling at her shirt and she tried to knee him in the groin, but he knocked her leg back with his, using the position as an opening. She screamed.

"If you want this to stop, Hermione," Professor Chanté hissed, "you'll leave the castle with me right now and without making one, single little fuss. Got it?"

Hermione bit him sharply in reply and he shouted a curse, smashing her head into the door again. She groaned.

"Have it your way, Hermione," he spat through gritted teeth, clenched in pain and irritation. "I suppose you'll like it in the end anyway, won't you, Mudblood?"

Like it? Like _what_? He wasn't going to – no, he wouldn't - Hermione froze and all at once her magic went on overdrive, surging through her in frantic bursts. Her head spun, her heart raced, blood roared behind her ears, and _she_ _could not control it. _

Professor Chanté flew across the room, crashing into the blackboard and buckling in a motionless heap on the floor.

Hermione stared at him in shock for a second – was he dead? – but in the next heartbeat she had torn open the door behind her and was running for all she was worth, not looking back even once. Consequences be damned, she needed to get out of there. Especially before Professor Chanté woke up...

She stopped at the Great Hall, breathless and panting. Peering in, Hermione saw she'd been gone for so long dinner was almost over and students were packing up to leave. She couldn't go in now though, she was a mess. Her shirt was ripped, thick hair wild, and the bottom of her skull felt tender. Hastily, she tugged her skirt back down from where Professor Chanté had shoved it above her thighs and only realized she was crying when a hot tear darted in her mouth. With the back of her hand, she wiped away the wetness.

What mattered now was getting to _him. _

It seemed like forever had gone by when dinner was at last over. Students streamed out of the Great Hall, giving her odd looks as they passed, but she paid them no mind and struggled to get through the masses, throwing her arms around Tom's neck when she was close enough. Her magic sighed in relief.

He stiffened. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

"Sorry. I-I…I…" she tried to say and stopped, frustrated as a lump the size of a melon swelled in her throat. He pulled back, revealing half of the Slytherin table behind him. They were all staring on unabashedly.

Tom frowned at the sight of tears darting down her cheeks, not stopping when she tried to stifle them with her sleeve. "Come with me," he commanded, putting his hand on her back and gesturing for the others to go. Abraxas and Regulus ushered everyone away immediately, although Elphy Wictz glanced back a few times.

Hermione was hardly aware of anything except keeping the worst of her tears at bay as Tom guided her through the swarm of students, which suddenly looked like a kaleidoscope of paint blots in her water-blurred vision. She blinked in surprise when they arrived at the landscape frame guarding the Head's common room and two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She scrubbed them off, embarrassed.

"Gumdrops," Tom announced.

"Hey Tom!" Augusta shouted jauntily when they walked in, looking up and dropping some scrolls in shock at the sight of Hermione. "Oh my– is she…?"

"Excuse us, Augusta," he said shortly, not even glancing the Head Girl's way as he brought Hermione upstairs and uttered the password to his room; a short hiss of Parseltongue foreign to any ears but a serpent's.

He placed Hermione on his bed and sat beside her, gently taking her chin and turning her. Tom started when she instantly flew into him like a launched barrel, burying her face in his chest with a wild, hitched sob. He slowly put his arms around her and rubbed her back, although he was mystified. What the hell happened to her?

"Sssh, Hermione…" She cried harder. "Hermione darling, _stop_."

She went still.

Cautiously, he pulled back, but she held on too tightly to his now-wet robes for him to get very far. The room was eerily silent.

"That's better." He pulled her hair aside, so he could see her face, and one bleary brown eye met his. "Now tell me what's wrong, darling," he murmured.

"I... Well, P-professor Chanté asked me to stay after class," she began waveringly. Hermione took a deep breath that rattled on the way out. "He said – um – odd things. That he wanted to take me somewhere off grounds or something and… Well, it was really strange, and I told him no but he…"

Here, her voice faded.

"He what?" Tom said, staring at her intently.

"He didn't listen."

"What do you mean by…'he didn't listen'?" he said, voice softer and more dangerous than she'd ever heard it. It reminded her of his older self, but instead of recoiling she pressed against him more tightly, seeking comfort or some sort of warmth in his wrath-cold grasp.

"He kissed me," she admitted, "and tried to do…other things."

Three inkbottles on the desk across the room shattered. Hermione jumped, startled.

"How far did he get?"

"W-what?"

His head whipped around and his voice came out in not a seething hiss, but a terrifying, blood-chilling _roar_. "_How far did that fucking bastard get?"_

"Not far," Hermione stammered, horrified yet unable to look away from his irate, blood-red eyes. He truly looked like Lucifer now – when he crash landed in the fiery pits of hell.

"H-he only kissed me-"

"You're lying."

"No, I-"

"You should never lie to me." In a second, his wand was at her temple and his brilliant eyes were less than an inch away from hers, burning blood-red right through her soul. She knew what he was going to do a split-second before he did it and her throat snagged on a scream as he intoned, "_Leglimens!"_

Their bond made it all the easier to dive inside her head, and Hermione was shoved back into the memory with him all too soon. Tom sifted through memories of today's events and watched as Professor Chanté shoved her against the door, running his greedy little hands all over _his _Hermione, pulling out of the memory a second after _his _Hermione's magic sent the disgusting professor sailing across the room.

_His _Hermione flung herself away from him, gasping.

For an instant, anger was forgotten and Tom reached over, running his hand down her cheek gently. She flinched and he remembered with a poker-hot flash of rage that Professor Chanté had done just that before attacking her.

Attacking. His. Possession.

Hermione avoided Tom's eyes as he pulled the sheets up around her, wondering if it was stupid of her to tell him what had happened, hating him for invading her brain so easily, wanting him to just _hold_ _her_ forever and ever until she just died in his arms–

She exhaled a shaky breath when he cupped her cheek.

He kissed her slowly and her lips moved of their own accord, molding themselves to his in a bittersweet harmony. A tear darted between their mouths.

"If he tries anything again I'll murder him," Tom promised, brushing his lips over hers, wet and salty as the ocean. He found he liked the taste of her sadness. "You have to tell me everything from now on, so nothing like this happens again. If it does I won't be able to let you out of my sight, now will I?" _Ever._

She frowned. "Murder him?"

"Yes."

"But you can't-" And her eyelids flickered, body slumping under the hypnotic force of his Sleeping Spell. He kissed her lips gingerly and they parted with a little pop, as if even in her unconsciousness she was willing – but Tom pulled away and tucked in the blanket around her. Taking off her shoes. Watching her chest rise and fall with breaths. Tucking a haywire curl back into place. Stealing a little kiss.

His darling had almost been taken from him.

"Oh professor," Lord Voldemort said, quietly, to the dark. "You're going to regret the minute you grew eyes to see the light of day with." And according to Lord Voldemort, Lucas Chanté wouldn't be seeing the light of day much longer.

Not much longer at all, in fact.

* * *

**AN: OK, I think some readers may – just **_**maaaybeee **_**– have been under the impression there was going to be a love triangle between Chanté, Tom, and Hermione. But I also know some readers were suspicious of Chanté's motives from the start…which is good. Either way, are there any Chanté fans out there anymore? Or does the jury agree he is a no good, dirty creeper? Speculations, perhaps? I love to hear reader's predictions of the story; they're usually things I never thought of or so spot-on I get a little nervous. Suggestions are great too! ;) **

**Also, I am working on finding someone to make a banner for **_**the Task**_**, there is a trailer for it in the making by Voldewhore *the-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is twitching in excitement as we speak* and I've got a new Tomione story underway too (damn thing is trolling my mental F-drive). I'll post it when I finish this one. And find a beta. **

**I hope.**

**Toodaloo, Tomione whores! You-Know-What will miss you very much – as well as Hermione's bad ass BJs. *licks cyber lollipop cyber suggestively* **

**Mmm...**


	21. Rise from the Ashes

**AN: The-Tomione-Ho lives, everyone (and has finally gotten to WiFi)! Yay! **

**Thanks for the reviews and favorites, etc. Y'all are icing on cupcakes. This chapter is quite a leap, so I thought a really fitting quote *scrolling down...* was in order. Happy reading!**

* * *

_"Mary, Mary_  
_To be this young I'm oh so scared_  
_I wanna live, I wanna love_  
_But it's a long hard road, out of hell_  
_I wanna live, I wanna love_  
_But its a long hard road, out of hell._

_You never said forever, could ever hurt like this._  
_You never said forever, could ever hurt like this._

_I wanna live, I wanna love_  
_But its a long hard road, out of hell."_

_- Long Hard Road Out of Hell by Marilyn Manson_

* * *

The Head Boy room was in pristine condition. The curtains were emerald green, every dresser drawer shut, and there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere - much less a spare pair of socks lying around - and Tom had apparently made his bed when she showered in the Head's bathroom. Even the ink on the walls from last night had been scrubbed away.

She glanced at the door adjoined to the loo, but it remained shut and all she heard was the sound of running water from the other side. Hermione silently crossed the room to his dresser, where the schoolbag he seldom used was. She kept an ear poised for any other sound, willing Tom to take an extra long time as she reached inside his bag.

She didn't find anything too interesting there however, like the diary filled with murder schemes and long passages offering insight into his mind she had been half-expecting and half-hoping to find. _It has to be here somewhere, _she thought, replacing the used quills and extra parchment. She looked around the room, frowning. Were there any trap doors or secret compartments lying around?

She tested out the floorboards, pushing them with the toe of her shoe experimentally as she went along, but none gave. Contrary to what others would think, Hermione didn't assume Tom hid his valuables under enchantments or wards. He was a halfblood and although he despised it, he had Muggle in him. At the orphanage, he obviously couldn't use his wand and would have to use non-magical means to hide his belongings. Who would guess such a powerful, flourishing wizard as he would store his precious things the Muggle way?

No one except a clever Muggleborn who did the same thing with the Elder Wand, of course.

Hermione checked under the mattress, between cushions on the comfy chair by the window, in his desk, and only found what she was looking for when she reached the bottom of his dresser. She hadn't seen anything inside it and was shutting the last drawer when it suddenly jammed, bumping into something.

_Gotcha._

She was careful not to make a sound as she slid the drawer off its tracks and laid it on the carpet. Peering inside, she found a messy pile of items crammed against the wall. Hermione grinned, reaching forward and pulling out a library book.

Her smile fell on seeing the cover. _The Tales of Beedle the Bard. _Quickly, she flipped it open to the story of the three brothers and ice plunged through her as she took in Tom's elegant script scrambled in the margins, along with multiple question marks and arrows. She snapped it shut. _How_? How could she forget the _most _important of all books to destroy? And this silly fairytale wouldn't have needed a ritual or anything; she could have thrown it in with the rubbish!

_Hermione, you dolt, _she thought, mouthing a curse.

She put the fable back. She would just have to make sure the three magical objects never - under any circumstances – got into Tom Riddle's hands…

As she continued to rifle through the little collection of possessions she came across a Muggle newspaper clipping. The photograph was grainy and recently dated, showing a handsome middle-aged man that looked like an older version of… Tom. _Tom Riddle Senior. _

She frowned. Tom had not killed his father yet, but he had made it clear to her he hated him when she asked – so why did he keep a photo of him behind his dresser? Hermione put the worn paper back carefully, resigning this new information to more of the Dark Lord's mystery.

She took out a diary.

It was small and made of black leather, more of a checkbook than a journal really. She opened it, her magic springing through her veins eagerly at the chance to read some of Tom's thoughts, but right then the shower shut off and she had to cram it back into place. Quickly, she picked up the drawer filled with folded socks and ties and shoved it into the dresser, throwing herself across the room to plop down on the bed and Summon her schoolbag in the next second.

When Tom came out she was brushing her hair.

"You look lovely," he commented, carding his fingers through her curls.

"You've never complimented me before," Hermione said, looking at him sideways. "You must want something."

"I'm hurt. Don't you trust me, darling?"

She snorted and turned around – to find the only thing he had on was a towel around his waist. He grinned at her suggestively, looping his thumb under the hem, and laughed when she whipped around with a shocked gasp, hurling her hands over her eyes.

"I actually want to _go_ to class today," she said firmly, although her resolve wavered when she felt his hands move her hair aside to one shoulder, followed by the pitter-patter of his lips as he kissed his way down the side of her neck. Goosebumps popped over her skin.

"We could tell Slughorn we were working on that extra-credit project," he suggested, pulling her onto his lap, and Hermione gasped when she acutely felt him _down there _through the thin towel.

"W-what extra-credit?" she said, struggling to keep her eyes open as his tongue slid over her skin. Her head fell back on his shoulder when he nudged it and his nose skimmed down her throat, breathing her in. She sighed.

"Just use that little trick of yours and 'magick' him into believing he assigned us one."

The lust that had been building in Hermione dissipated like smoke. She froze. "How do you know about that?"

"Hm?"

"The...the magick."

"Oh, that," he murmured. "I don't know, Hermione, it's a long story better off postponed. Don't you think?" To emphasize his meaning, one of his hands crept up her thigh.

She pushed it away and got up, spinning around to face him. "Tom, what do you know?" she demanded, her already cranked-up nerves racking even higher when he didn't so much as blink at her words. He simply smiled.

"I know many things," he said, seriously. "For instance, I know for a fact that you have my teeth marks right…" And he pointed at the fourth button down on her blouse. "There." His index finger lowered. "And there, too."

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I."

"Please, Tom, tell me how you-" _found out _"-know about this."

"You remember the night of Slughorn's soiree, correct?"

She nodded. Of course she remembered. How could she forget? That was the night they first kissed, the night Dumbledore left for Germany without Despicable Concoction running through his veins, the night she found-

"Well, later that night Meredith was brought to the hospital wing. Of course, I was concerned for the poor girl's well-being-" She scoffed. "-so I dropped by," he said smoothly. "It was possible she might be hurt – or know something she shouldn't. I had to go there and see for myself."

"You performed Leglimency," she finished, remembering how he had invaded her mind last night without any warning or hesitation. Part of her was still horrified.

"Yes, and I was surprised to find someone had already tampered with her mind. I thought you'd simply cast a Memory Charm, but when I had a closer look I saw you wake her up and talk to her. You told her she had slipped and fell on a desk. She believed you without question."

She was silent.

"How did you do that?" he asked, eyes glinting with intrigue. "It was almost like the Imperius Curse."

"It is _nothing_ like that," she said, more harshly than she meant to. His brows rose. "I mean, I-I've always been able to do it," she hastened to say. "I don't know why, but it doesn't work on powerful wizards – like you and Dumbledore. I can't explain it."

He stared at her intently and Hermione fidgeted. Did he see through the fib? Through her? Was he trying to read her mind? She enforced her Occlumency walls, just in case, although they'd probably never hold up against another one of his attacks. The bond had made him extremely strong.

A moment later, however, only a smirk came through the stony mask, smug and boyish. "I knew you were different."

Did he know she was a liar, too? She looked away, not understanding why she felt guilty for not telling the truth. Why should she? _He_ lied all the time. Because of it, she was bound to him and wearing Slytherin's Locket around her neck when Meredith Smith was probably suffering dearly for its disappearance.

"I couldn't do that to Slughorn anyway," she said, changing the subject. "Magick him to get out of class, I mean."

"Why not?"

"It's wrong." At his unchanging expression, she added, "Not all of us have the moral standards of Satan."

"You're comparing me to the devil?"

"Not Dante's interpretation. You're more like Milton's version from _Paradise Lost,"_ she admitted, nose crinkling in thought."The most beautiful of all angels…the rebel."

"_Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven." _

"You think so?"

Their gazes met and for an instant a vast sea seemed to stand between them, impossible to cross, to understand.

"I don't know much about you," she suddenly said softly. "I feel like I hardly know you at all."

"You know I'm a halfblood." He sounded bitter.

"Oh, your family history doesn't matter much." He blinked at her and she smiled sheepishly. "Well, to me it doesn't_. _I meant silly things, like your favorite ice cream flavor or pet peeves."

He stared at her calculatingly. "Does this mean we're skipping Potions?"

"Although it goes against my better judgment, we're skipping."

"I have tainted you." He was obviously satisfied by this fact, and as he leaned back against the comforters Hermione imagined a cigar smoking in his mouth, a monocle over one glinting eye and a top hat donned on his head. He'd make the cover of _Witch Weekly'_s December issue for sure.

She plopped down next to him.

"By the way," he added. "The answer is chocolate and I hate it when people cry. It's exceedingly annoying."

Her face went red. "So last night I irritated you?"

"No." He frowned at her. "Of course not."

She paused, biting back the question forming on her tongue and moving onto the next inquiry quickly. "What about your favorite book?" she threw out.

"_Here a question arises: whether it is better to be loved than feared or feared than loved_? _It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, it is much safer to be feared than loved. …Fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails."_

"Machiavelli," she said, surprised. "He's a Muggle writer."

"I am aware."

He didn't elaborate.

Watching him, Hermione got a sudden idea. Perhaps this Q&A was better than a snoop through his diary? Maybe she could even get a glimpse of the man behind so many masks.

"Favorite toy?"

"My favorite toy?"

"Sure, from when you were little," she said casually.

"Oh." He raked his hand through his hair again, upsetting the perfect waves for a moment. He hesitated. "I didn't have any toys," he finally said, watching her closely.

"...Is it because your orphanage was poor?" she asked.

"It still is," he grumbled, scowling at the bed set. "I liked to pull pranks though," he said without meaning to and tensed. How had that happened? He always thought things through before speaking, for that was how you never said anything wrong.

"Pranks like what?" Hermione thought of Fred and George zooming through the hallways, setting off fireworks as Umbridge ran after them shrieking in outrage. She smiled fondly at the memory.

"Not the usual kind. I'm not exactly 'friendly' to the other children."

_Oh. _"It must be hard to go back there every summer," she said tentatively, "when you can't use any magic for two whole months, or even talk about it."

"It is." He spoke again unintentionally, saying, "No one's ever noticed before."

_No one ever cared._

Did she?

"Do you miss her? Your…mother?"

And just like that, Tom's expression closed, as shutters slam shut over a window on a windy day. Cool as ice, he said, "No. How could I possibly miss someone I never knew, Hermione?"

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to pry."

He sighed, studying her. Her button nose was small and dotted by summer freckles only just starting to fade. Her lips, too thin to be pouty, turned in a worried frown. The sharp brown eyes and frizzy hair were familiar to him by now - and the flaws made her all the better. Easier to prey on, to hook.

It was imperative she adored everything about him. He craved that admiration, that approval, and it was all the sweeter when it came from her, like a fix of cocaine to an addict. He could live off that fill. But if she were to truly revere him, then she would have to know everything he had kept secret for so long, wouldn't she? Only then would that insatiable gap eating at his brain go away. Only then would he be fulfilled.

_Worship me. Love me. Adore me. Want me. Envy me. Only me, forever. _He couldn't stop the thoughts, even as they made him feel worse, hungrier, lonelier, and emptier than ever. She was his, yet he could never _truly_ have her.

And that angered him so very much.

"I'll be going to Arithmancy third period, but we still have about an hour until it starts," Hermione said, glancing at her watch.

"You want to leave?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not, Tom. What makes you think that?"

"You seem to be in a hurry to go is all." He smirked a little, but it looked more mechanic than genuine. "Why not stay here with me all day?"

"Because we go to _school."_

"It's not as if we even need to," he said moodily, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "I'm at the top of our class. You've probably studied the course material over the summer - you're constantly correcting the professors and could write two years worth of lesson plans for them if you didn't spend so much time cooped up in the library."

"No one said it was a crime to read books!"

"Not in this century, lucky for you." He got up and walked over to the dresser, laying out his uniform. Hermione rested on her stomach, crossing her ankles behind her, and watched unabashedly as he dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of boxers. He scraped a hand back through his dark hair. "You're staring."

"As long as you're putting on a show I may as well watch," she replied cheekily. Not practiced enough to hold back, her magic immediately stretched out toward his. Of course, it wasn't visible, but she could feel it intertwining with his and whispering lust like a lover. She blushed when he turned toward her, shirt on but trousers unzipped. His brows were raised expectantly.

_Blast._

"Did you need something?" he asked with a lazy smirk, just to torment her.

"Well, not necessarily," Hermione stumbled. "I mean, you didn't have to stop getting dressed or anything."

"Because you were 'enjoying the show,' correct?" He came toward her, like a jaguar stalking his prey, and she inched backward until her elbows hit the headboard. "I don't know, Hermione, you seem to be very…needy…right now and I'm inclined to help you out." He gazed at her from under those long eyelashes, archangel beauty in full effect. She glared back.

"Oh really. And why the sudden act of chivalry, huh?"

"I always take good care of what is mine," he said. "Won't you let me take care of you?"

At this, she stared at him, and he brought his lips to the juncture of her jaw. Sucked on the skin there. Scraped his teeth gently. She wasn't sure how she felt about his words though. On one hand, she was extremely aroused, but on the other…

"Where are you?" he said, frustrated when she didn't respond to his ministrations. He scowled. "Still thinking about Arithmancy?"

"No, I'm just…distracted."

"I'd rather be the distraction if you don't mind."

She snorted, pulling away. "Should I rearrange the entire universe so you're at the center of it?"

"Not the entire universe," he disagreed. "Just yours."

"Your arrogance is repulsive." She rolled them over, landing on top. He rested his hands on her hips, glad her attention was finally where it should've been all along. "Besides, if I do that my universe will explode, unable to contain your giant ego," she countered.

"I promise it'd be well worth it," he said suggestively and snickered when she thwacked him over the head with a pillow.

"Stop being so lewd."

"You're the one who sent horny waves of magic at me-"

"That's not fair. You know I can't control it!"

"Hormonal Hermione," he said, tasting the name. "It has a certain ring to it."

"So does Peeping Tom," she retorted.

He glared at her.

"Aw. Shall I kiss your wounded pride better?"

Pleasure spread across his face at the mention of kissing. "If you insist, do feel free to put your lips anywhere on me."

"Pig."

He scoffed. She checked her watch and frowned. They only had eleven minutes left. Her body rebelled against the thought of leaving him, even if they were just lazing around. Actually, she was surprised he was lazing at all. Wasn't he usually a workaholic, like her?

Suddenly, Tom's hand appeared on the clock face and she watched, shell-shocked, as the glass melted like shiny butter under his fingertips. She gaped at him. "Why did you do that?" And how did he _learn _how to do that? She'd never seen any magic like that before.

"For someone who says they're not eager to leave, you sure do check the time often," he replied. "So I got rid of your watch to save both of us the trouble."

"You can't just melt my wa-"

His mouth snagged hers, eating up the rest of her protest, and she beat his chest angrily. "You can't make shut up either," she exclaimed into his lips, although the falsity of that statement was increasing by the second.

He held the back of her head and tilted it to his liking, making her gasp when he pinched her hip. He plunged his tongue inside her open mouth aggressively, wiping away the rest of her thoughts with a cruel, harsh kiss. His bite was mean when he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and she cried out, which only drove him to kiss her more deeply than before. He could feel her heart pounding against him and growled, licking the wound he'd made until it stung.

He pulled back, panting, and Hermione fingered her mouth with a little frown. "That hurt."

"But it could have hurt more." And he was already sorely tempted to do worse to her. "Thus, I sort of did you a favor by going so easy on you," he said, smirking.

"Like I said, your arrogance repulses me."

"I read the book," he said and she blinked, surprised. "Did it say anything about the essences?" she demanded.

"It had everything on the subject." At her excited smile, he said, "I'll tell you more about it later, when we leave the castle tonight."

Hermione frowned."Where are we going?"

"The Forbidden Forest."

"Really? But I thought you-"

"I changed my mind." He plucked a kiss on her mouth. "Just trust me, darling. I'll tell you everything later."

She nodded, but deep inside a prickle of doubt touched her subconcious. Would he tell her everything? Or was this another lie, a trick? But why would he trick her? They were on the same side now, or so he thought.

Didn't he?

* * *

Hermoione was on the way to DADA, nervously wondering what state she would find Professor Chanté in when an envelope suddenly zoomed across the hall at the speed of a bullet - and headed straight for her.

"OUCH!" she cried, throwing her arms over her head in a futile attempt to ward off paper cuts. "Gah, cut it _out-"_

Beside her, Rosy plucked the hostile mail from the air. "Oh, I got one of these third period," she said, unimpressed, and tapped the cover with her wand. A letter immediately rolled out and unfolded mid-air, smoothing its creases before floating up to them. "It's Slughorn's invitation. There's going to be a Slug Club meeting tomorrow night."

She glanced over the contents of the letter. The meeting was an ice cream social at seven-thirty in the Potions room. For ladies, dresses were encouraged but not required.

"What are you going to wear?" Rosy said when they entered the classroom. The supplies closet door was open and Hermione supposed Professor Chanté was inside it. A shiver trembled down her spine as nerves got the best of her.

"I don't know," she said distractedly. "This, I suppose."

Rosy's mouth bobbed open and shut, reminding Hermione of a hungry guppy for a moment. "W-what? That's it?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"Er, nothing, nothing. In fact, it'd be kind of cool to ignore the dress code, like a… a statement or something." Rosy smiled enthusiastically. "I'll tell Elphy and Fabia."

"If you want to. What about Meredith?" She looked across the room at the girl in question, who still hadn't come out of her funk and was staring at the blackboard blankly. A twinge of uncertainty pricked her. What if-?

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Rosy whispered. "You remember what Elphy said, don't you? She may not inherit any of the Smith fortune and everyone knows she isn't a virgin." Her voice lowered to a surreptitious hiss. "If her family doesn't cut her loose they'll have a hard time marrying her off. No rich gent is going to want used goods, now is he?"

Hermione stared at Rosy, shocked by the girl's merciless rant, but before she could reply Professor Chanté suddenly strode in. Her breath halted halfway up her chest at the sight of him and she whipped around, jetting to a table in the very back. Rosy cast the professor a bewildered glance before following.

"Um, what was _that_ about?" she said.

"It's nothing," Hermione said, too quickly. "I'm just looking forward to the lesson is all."

"Oh, you're such a bookworm," Rosy giggled. "It's no wonder you're his fa-"

"Excuse me, ladies."

The girls looked up to see Tom Riddle standing before them, a charming smile further enhancing his aristocratic visage. Rosy blinked. "I don't mean to interrupt," he said, "but Antonin has just told me he would very much like to sit with you this period, Miss Parkinson. He was too shy to tell you himself, however," he said in a lower tone, winking.

Rosy swooned a little, smiling loopily. "Really?" She glanced at Hermione. "Oh, I mean, I don't know. I couldn't leave Hermione-"

"Of course not, I wouldn't dream of leaving Miss Granger on her own this period." Tom met Hermione's questioning gaze with a smile and she squinted at him. What was he up to? "But I'd be more than happy to be her partner," he offered.

Catching the look exchanged between the two, Rosy nodded slowly. _Oooh_, she understood _perfectly_. Just wait until she told the others Tom Riddle fancied Hermione! She struggled to rein in a squeal.

"Excellent! You're always thinking, Tom," she said with more zeal, bouncing to her feet. "I'll sit with Antonin and you two can…ah, work."

Tom moved to take the seat she had vacated and when his back was turned Rosy flipped two thumbs-up at Hermione before spinning on her heel and flouncing to the other side of the room, where Antonin was glaring quite petulantly at his homework for Transfiguration.

Hermione grinned. "So Mr. Riddle, what brought on Antonin's sudden affections for Miss Parkinson, hm?"

"He couldn't stifle his burning passion for her anymore, I suppose." He lifted his shoulders in a graceful shrug. "Who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

"_My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-making. You do it very ill."_

He smirked. "I never said I was Cupid."

She waved him off, but he caught her hand before she could pick up a quill, brushing his mouth across the knuckles and bringing a simmering edge to her magic. She swallowed. "But maybe that bit with Parkinson was just a ploy to get close enough to keep an eye on you," he murmured.

"Why, Mr. Riddle, I had no idea how very charming you could be," she said drily.

"This flattery gets you nowhere."

"Shame." She dropped her hand to his leg and idly danced it upward, giving him her best Elphy-Wictz-eyelash-flutter. "Will this?"

"Probably. However-" He caught her wrist, firmly pushing it away. "-it'll have to wait for later."

She rolled her eyes.

The bell rang and a minute later, Professor Chanté looked up from his desk. Hermione noted with surprise that there were bags under his blue eyes and he didn't start the lesson in his usual, flamboyant way, but simply told everyone to read the chapter on boggarts and practice the counter spell _Riddikulus _for homework_. _The students exchanged worried glances. He'd never told them to use their textbooks before. What was wrong with him?

Tom's magic shifted into a perilous, foreboding energy as the professor's exhausted gaze landed on Hermione. In turn, she ducked behind her book, and the pages flipped to the correct chapter at a crook of her finger. Her heart beat faster as rage rushed through the young man beside her like a freight train – on the outside though, the Head Boy didn't seem to so much as bat an eye.

"Don't do anything rash, Tom," she warned.

"I don't know what you mean, darling," he said quietly, dangerous as a summer storm swelling on the horizon. "Do you think I would kill him? That I would torture him for hours on end until he regretted the very second his dirty mother conceived him-?"

"Tom."

"-or resort to Muggle means and beat him to a senseless pulp? All I need is a knife really-"

"_Stop_ _it_."

"Why?" He turned to her, eyes searching. "Don't you want that git to pay for what he's done?"

"Please don't talk like that," she whispered, the plea almost lost under the sound of turning pages and quiet chatter. "What if you got caught?"

"That would never happen. Dippet is much too stupid."

"Well, what about Dumbledore? He could catch you and you would be expelled, if not sent to Azkaban-"

"Quit worrying about me, Hermione," he snapped. "I can handle it."

"Right." She dropped her eyes to the textbook to hide the hurt in them. "Sorry."

"Mr. Riddle, is there an explanation as to why you're talking to Miss Granger instead of reading with the rest of the class?"

Hermione's head whipped up at the sound of Professor Chanté's voice. He was right in front of their desk, slanted blue eyes glaring at her and voice low enough that the rest of the class did not overhear. "Well?" he demanded.

"Um, we were-"

"Hermione and I have already finished the reading actually, professor," Tom interrupted, weaving his fingers through hers on top of the desk. Professor Chanté's eyes latched onto their intertwined hands. "We were just discussing it."

"I see," the professor replied. His mouth twisted like he'd bit something tart. "Must be some interesting…_conversation_…you two were having."

"What are you implying, professor?" Tom inquired, smiling cherubically when Professor Chanté shot him a suspicious glower.

"_Rien. _Nothing at all," he said. "Get back to work, you two, or it will be detention next time." He gave Hermione a somewhat stiff smile and returned to his desk at the front of the room, ignoring Minerva McGonagall's beady gaze. The Gryffindor frowned.

And Hermione realized Professor Chanté might be too dangerous to let slip by any longer.

* * *

She entered the girl's dormitory to find everyone asleep. Tip-toeing past the beds to her trunk, Hermione pulled on a heavy cloak. Tom had said they would be going to the Forbidden Forest tonight, although what exactly they were going to do there she didn't know. It was this ignorance which scared her. However, if going out there meant getting rid of the essences...

Then she was game.

She sat in the common room, watching orange sparks spew out of the fireplace while Gregovitch finished his patrol of the underground. Soft footsteps issued from behind her and her hand automatically inched toward the wand in her pocket, although she didn't turn around. It wasn't Tom – she would have sensed him – and students were not supposed to be out of bed at this hour.

"Hermione."

Spinning around, she pointed her wand dead between Professor Chanté's surprised eyes. Her own were unforgiving. "How did you get in here?"

"I need to talk to you," he said, eyeing the vinewood stick warily. "I was out of line yesterday, I understand that-"

"Out of line?" A terrible combination of fear and anger made her throat choke, squeeze and clamp down on the venomous words she spat next, "Th-that's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

"Well, how can _you_ be with that stupid schoolboy?" he retorted. "Really, Tom Riddle?"

"Tom is by no means stupid," she hissed. "You're the idiot who can't seem to take a hint. How dare you assault me like that-"

"I did no such thing, Hermione." The flickering firelight fell over his face as he stepped toward her, spinning the usually handsome features into wild splashes of shadow and bruises. Hermione gasped, taken off guard by the professor's horrific state. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, lip split and covered with dried blood. He seemed to be limping.

"What happened to you?" she breathed.

"Oh, you don't know?" The professor laughed bitterly. _"You_ did."

Hermione stared at him, bewildered.

"When you threw me across the room I didn't wake up until twelve o'clock today. I cast some spells to hide the aftermath for class." He grimaced. "However, the pain remains."

"It'd better."

"Please, Hermione," he said, voice falsely gentle and apologetic when his sapphire eyes emanated malevolence. "Give me one more chance. Come with me tonight. I got you something, a bracelet-"

"You're disgusting." She inched back when he advanced another step toward her. "I'm warning you, don't come any closer-" Again, he didn't listen to her words and his foot had just begun to rise off the ground when she shouted, "_Flipendo!" _

Professor Chanté crashed into one of the leather couches and she raced out of the room, his enraged yell ratcheting off the common room walls like a banshee scream. "_You bitch, get back here!"_

She sprinted down the hall and had just rounded a corner when her magic abruptly went on overdrive and she slammed into a body, knocking them both to the floor with a loud _bang_!

"Ouch!" She looked up to see Tom glaring at her as he righted his robes. "What the bloody hell are you running around for-?"

"No time to explain, we've gotta go," she interrupted breathlessly. She cast an anxious glance down the hall she'd just come from, getting to her feet. "I saw Professor Chanté down there and he's headed this way-"

Tom's eyes instantly darkened. "He tried to get you alone again, didn't he?"

"No, I-I just got a glimpse of him," she lied, "but we need to get moving. If he sees us it will be days until we can get to the Forbidden Forest again."

She waited anxiously for his response, bouncing on her feet as he considered this. Then he finally sighed, annoyed. "Alright, let's go."

She speedily cast Disillusionment Charms over both of them and took his hand. They weaved through the halls soundlessly, although inside her heart was still pounding from the run-in with Professor Chanté. She by no means desired to know what it was he wanted to 'show her.' It couldn't be anything half as harmless as some bracelet, that was for sure.

All doors were locked at this time of night, for ever since the essences arrived heavier wards had been placed on Hogwarts exits; wards that could not be broken without alerting the entire school and possibly Aurors. They stopped outside of the door that led to a trail going directly into the Forbidden Forest, where the black cat had disappeared to a few days ago.

"What now?" she asked.

"You'll have to get us out there," Tom said, his voice floating out of the darkness right beside her and startling a nearby portrait. "Do what you did last time."

"But I didn't do anything. It was that death omen who brought me outside, I just followed it."

"You said the books you destroyed were on Dark spells, correct? So according to the book the essences you released have those qualities and would actually improve your spell-casting skills in the Dark Arts – or make you see death omens. That is, if you accepted them."

"Accepted what? The essences?"

"Precisely."

Her heart skipped a beat when she realized what exactly Tom had brought her out here for. "No_. _I-I-I won't. I can't go in there again, Tom," she said firmly and her sweaty hand trembled in his. "Please don't make me."

"You have to," he said harshly, dragging her closer to the door. "Do you want to see anyone else die? What if it's a student next time? If anyone else goes it is on you, Hermione, it's your fault. Do you want to live with that?"

No, she didn't. And she didn't want to hurt anyone else either. Hermione swallowed, knowing what Tom said was true and feeling all the more guilty for it. How many more people would have to get hurt before she owned up to her mistakes?

"How do you even know about any of this?" she whispered.

"The book from Dippet's office," he said. "Depending on what exactly the releaser of the essences let loose – in this case, you – becomes affected by them."

"Affected how?"

"They'll make you stronger." He lifted their Disillusionment Charms and she stared up at him, half-visible in the torchlight. His eyelashes threw long, spiky shadows down marble cheekbones, transforming him from a schoolboy into a phantom of the night or some sort of ghost prince. His beauty was not cookie-cutter, but haunting. He caressed her cheek. "Whatever those essences hold will be yours," he murmured. "They want to give all that power to you."

_To me._

She bit her lip. The trouble was, she hadn't simply burned some books on Dark Arts spells at all, but serious tomes on Horcruxes and necromancy. Terror seized her at the thought of what those essences really contained and what that might mean. They'd already killed in their anxiety to get to her and she still remembered what happened the last time she entered the Forbidden Forest, how they tried to capture and devour her – or so she'd thought. He said this explained why she had been seeing death omens, but what if there was more? Did it tell why she now recognized every aspect of Dark magic down to the very rustic scent and why it did not revolt her, but _attracted her?_

Even his darkness drew her in, from the chilling allure to the cruelty programmed into his very being that she both abhorred and admired in its ruthlessness. Had the cat led her to the Forbidden Forest with the intent of uniting her with the essences? What would a Horcrux essence do? Tear her soul apart? Enable her to rip out others?

And what of necromancy? Regulus had told her his parents once met a necromancer in Africa, who suffered from severe hallucinations and saw visions of death every other minute. She did not want to be like that. Hermione Granger had too much to offer to become a washed-up, raving patient in St. Mungo's.

But there was still some shred of Gryffindor deep inside, and it would not let anyone else die for her.

"You'll come with me, right?"

"Of course I will." Tom hid his pleasure at her admission, taking one of Hermione's hands and smiling down at the witch softly. "I'll always be with you, darling."

She was surprised by how much better his words made her feel. If Tom Riddle thought she could do this there had to be a very little chance of her failing, didn't there? She steeled herself. _So the last time I walked straight through a door what was I thinking of? _Well, that was easy. She hadn't been thinking of anything at all, she was just following that bloody cat. And it hit her.

_The cat. _

"Cat?" she whispered, searching the dim hall for any signs of a swishing tail, but saw none. She took a deep breath. Maybe it would respond to a command? "Cat, _come."_

Just like that, a black cat materialized feet away from them. Runes circled his head and the tip of his tail sported a chunk of pink skin where fur should have been. "Do you see it?" she said excitedly, pointing. "The cat?"

Beside her, Tom squinted into the dark, and a dissatisfied frown curled his lip. "No. I see…nothing."

"Oh." Perhaps magical bonds had nothing to do with essences? she thought. But there was no time to dwell on it now; she'd have to reconsider this tidbit of information later.

"Cat," she said, refocusing on the expectant death omen. "Take us to the Forbidden Forest."

The black cat dipped its head in the feline-version of a nod and hopped up, waxy green eyes glinting like coins in the dark just before he spun in place and sprang through the large oak doors. Hermione tightened her hold on Tom and followed suit, praying he wouldn't get stuck on the other side.

They both surfaced.

"Are you alright?" she asked, checking him over. "You're not Splinched or anything?"

"I'm fine," he said. He was amused by her fussing. "No missing body parts, see?"

She smiled, but a scratching on her leg distracted her. She looked down to see the black cat swatting his paws at her, claws catching in the frays of her stockings. When he saw he had gained her attention he paced back and started down the trail, obviously intending for them to follow.

"Is it there on the path?" Tom asked.

"Yes." Nerves made her grip his hand harder. "He's headed to the forest."

"Then lead the way, Hermione."

He stayed a step behind her as they went after the cat, which increased speed and became more agitated the closer they got to the Forbidden Forest. When they were about twenty feet away, it froze in place, scuffed ears twitching anxiously and meowing at the smoky essences overhead.

Thunder rumbled in their entrenching depths. Hermione, Tom, and the cat hurried into the shadows when the silhouette of a professor passed through a window in the castle and paused. Judging by the curly outline of hair, it was Dumbledore.

"He can't make us out from here," she said, more to reassure Tom than herself, who was rigid beside her. "We're too far away."

"Of course." But he didn't look convinced.

With an abrupt yowl, the black cat suddenly went berserk, his scarce fur puffing out as he hissed at something neither of them could see. "What is it?" Hermione asked, but the cat paid her no mind, bulleting into the forest on surprisingly agile legs as if something very large ran after it.

"What happened?" Tom said.

"I don't know. The cat just left, it freaked out and ran into the forest." She paused. "You don't think someone...?"

Their gazes met. Hermione's eyes were full of worry; his, apprehension.

"We should hurry," he said in response and promptly started down the hill going into the forest. She followed suit, glancing around the grounds of Hogwarts nervously.

It was very dark out tonight.

* * *

When Tom and Hermione entered the forest they froze, for it was as if someone had suddenly pulled film over their eyes. Everything lay lost in grey fumes, the howling winds seemed more distant, and the very air smelled of char and blood. Such a heavy perfume would have made any other wizard's stomach churn.

"It's Dark magic," Tom said, knowing the scent as well as he knew his own wretched name. He inhaled deeply. "Do you remember where the ritual site is?"

"I think so." She took a deep breath, too, but that turned out to be a bad idea as the scent of Dark magic intensified and made her go dizzy, as if she'd taken a large whiff of incense. Her magic spiked, triggering Tom's in turn, and she was…suddenly...so..._consumed_…

Then _his_ mouth was on her ear, whispering. "Take me there, darling."

_There? _

She knew exactly where there was.

She took his hand and diverted off the dirt path to the right, knowing the way to the ritual site although she had not been there in months. Although she hardly felt the ground under her. "What am I supposed to do once we get there?" she murmured throatily. Lust hung in these shadow clouds. Strangely, she wanted to take off all of his clothes and feel him inside her, thrusting and filling her slowly; she wanted him to take her everywhere_, _to hurt her bad_-_

"You won't have to do anything," he said, snapping her out of it. "The essences will automatically come to you. They need a host, a place to go to since they were not disposed of properly, and to them you are their owner. All you have to do is let them in."

_Let them in. _They stopped steps away from the clearing, which was barren of all life and flat as a paved road. "Will it hurt?" she asked.

"Yes, but it's worth it." He rubbed his thumb over her cheek when her gaze went wide with fear. Dark magic still hung over his eyes in a glossy veil, growling through his veins, clouding the senses. "Do this for me, darling. I know you're strong enough." He pushed her toward the lifeless clearing. "I'll wait here."

Hermione was petrified, but she couldn't turn back now, could she? Creatures would die, possibly students, and Tom said she could handle it. She straightened, calling on every ounce of bravery she had as she entered the circle, pitch-black with essences and so dark not even the moonlight could perturb it. She shut her eyes, although her terror got worse the deeper in she got. She could feel Tom's magic no longer, nor her own.

There were only the essences.

Sweeping around her in hissy winds, lifting locks of her hair as they slowly recognized her. A cloudy vortex formed and they circled her, just as a sleepy tiger paces her bedding ground. She concentrated on Tom's words when fear struck her heart: _let them in. _

But how?

Like the first drag of a cigarette, a burn hot and bitter scraped her lungs. Essences were slithering down her throat, giving her no chance to catch her breath, smashing down on her body, now instinctively shifting into panic-mode although she struggled to recollect herself through the blinding fear hashing in from all directions. The essences wrapped around her in a choking cocoon and Hermione forgot she wasn't breathing, forgot the name Tom Riddle, forgot her friends and family, forgot humanity, forgot where her eyes were and whether they were still lodged in her sockets. She forgot it all until there was nothing.

Nothing.

The essences swelling above the Forbidden Forest in a vast thunderhead ever so slowly drained, trickling in inch by excruciating inch. Blood oozed through Hermione's veins at a lazy rate and her heart beat a sluggish rhythm against her ribs – _glug glug, glug glug –_ thousands of needles pricking her skin – _glug, glug _– pressure from everywhere, body engorged – _glug_.

Behind sewn eyelids visions of a strangled centaur, blank-eyed Grindelwald, and Meredith's spilled blood swishing around her shoes plagued her, although she felt no emotion other than pain now. The older Dumbledore, sitting on a bench in King's Cross, would not look at her.

A figure in a black hood reached out a skeletal hand to three brothers, passing one a wand, the second a stone, and the last a cloak. Then Death turned to her with a greedy grin that became a glower when his endless pits saw the runes of eternity inscribed on her wrists, evaporating into heavy plumes of smoke that blinded her.

Whispers of the will-o'-the-wisps fluttered through Hermione's ears, speaking a language she at once did and did not understand, like bones rattling in a jar, or knives scraping ice…

The Forbidden Forest was clear again. The air purer, the woods white and frosted in a delicate coat of ice. She felt Tom's hand enclose her frigid one and he lifted her into his lap, sweeping the hair out of her face. Her head flopped lifelessly over the edge of his arm.

"Hermione?"

He propped her head up, long fingers probing underneath her jaw. She could sense his magic again and felt it whirl frantically through the air as he hastily shoved open her robes next, pressing his ear against her breast. A quiet intake of breath.

"Darling," he said. "Darling, wake up, it's over now." When she didn't respond he shook her violently and her head snapped back with a loud crack, neck tickling under the glare of a gaze she did not feel.

"Wake _up, _damn you," he snarled and his magic abruptly rocketed through her, searching every single fiber of her body for its counterpart only to rattle hollowly against bones. And what of waking up? She hadn't been aware she was even sleeping. _Wake up._ But how could she? Hermione tried to make her limbs move, tried to prove she was not dead, but her body just wouldn't listen to her.

His lips on her cold ones.

And she saw it. _Runes_. Runes in the book, _Necromancy, An Art Moste Tricky_. Runes on the cat's head. Runes on her wrists. She had died, but she could bring herself back, for that was what necromancy was – the rising of the dead. Quickly, Hermione put what she had learned in Ancient Runes to use and decoded the symbols that the essences had imprinted on her, now running through her mind as if they'd been there all along, just waiting for her to notice them…

_Relinquo mihi. Ex cineribus resurgam._

"Get away from her," a voice shouted.

The haywire magic frenzying around the clearing froze, as did Tom Riddle. He didn't look up as Lucas Chanté emerged from the chaotic tangle of dead vegetation, looking worse than ever with twigs caught in his wild hair and a black eye. His wand was leveled, entire body shaking so hard with fury it'd be a miracle if he could hex a mountain and not miss.

"You heard me, Mr. Riddle," the professor sneered. "I said get up!"

Slowly, Tom set Hermione's corpse-still body on the snowy ground, and goosebumps broke over her skin at the violent cold. She felt his long fingers hesitate on her cheek before he got to his feet, robes rustling in the breeze.

"You followed us, Lucas?"

"I did. I saw you and Miss Granger headed this way through the window. I wanted to make sure no one got hurt."

"You should have looked elsewhere if you didn't want violence," Tom replied, raising his wand so fluidly he might have been a conductor about to begin a stunning performance. His voice was soft. "I'm quite in the mood for some bloodshed."

Professor Chanté laughed. Loudly.

"Well then, why don't we put what you've learned in the classroom to the test, Mr. Riddle? I'm sure a few _Reductos _will put me in my place."

Tom's answering smile was angelic. "Of course."

Professor Chanté was a little disturbed by the boy's lack of emotion, but did not show it as they bowed to each other. Behind Tom Riddle's bent form, however, he caught sight of something strange. Something still. Something with frozen curly hair...

"Holy shit," he breathed. "You killed her."

"It's just like you to make assumptions, Lucas," Lord Voldemort chuckled and his lips peeled back so that he resembled a hungry wolf. Dark magic turned the air heavy, pressing down on the professor like an iron weight. "Going under the theory that I am the culprit, however, shall I kill you next?"

At this, rage bubbled to the surface and Professor Chanté cast the first spell, yelling, "_Diffindo!"_

Lord Voldemort slashed his wand through the air and a blue shield formed around him, easily deflecting the spell, but he didn't give the professor another second to think as he responded with a nonverbal curse that launched across the clearing in a green jet of light, knocking Professor Chanté flat on his back before he could deflect it. Another spell flashed through the night to join the former.

Hermione heard the professor cry out and struggled to get her body working again. Concentrating, she finally succeeded in getting a finger to twitch, which was slowly followed by the other nine digits. She flexed her hand experimentally – cold but functioning.

She eventually succeeded in turning her head in time to see Tom standing over Professor Chanté, who was clutching his face and kicking his legs in a vain attempt to fight off the bolts of electricity writhing around them. What did Tom _do _to him? As if to answer her, the professor looked up with a pained gasp, sending her stomach dribbling through her knees at the sight of his eyes - always blue like cornflowers and ocean waves; now glaring bright _red_ from exploded blood vessels.

The professor got to his feet shakily. "_K-kalye-"_

The spell had barely passed his lips when he was on his back again, this time writhing under bloodcurdling agony and screaming. Tom's eyes were alight with a sadistic delight that would make Satan's insides coil with fear. He lifted the Cruciatus Curse.

"You don't even have a teaching degree, you fool. What makes you think you can defeat me?" he sang, laughing coldly when the professor gulped down air. "I can make you regret the very second your whore mother gave birth to you."

"Try me," Professor Chanté gasped.

"Oh, I will, Lucas." Tom circled him, a predator assessing his kill. "We're going to get to know each other very well tonight, aren't we…"

Out of sight, Professor Chanté's grip tightened on his wand and he angled the tip so it just barely pointed upward. Panicked, Hermione tried to say something, but all she could utter was a pathetic grunt.

Professor Chanté's bleeding eyes snapped to her wide ones.

"What are you looking at, idiot?" Tom snapped impatiently. When the professor didn't respond he threw a careless glance over his shoulder. Seeing her staring back at him, he went still.

_Hermione?_

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _ Professor Chanté cast and Tom stiffened, legs locking as he swung back to land on the wintry brush. The professor scrambled up clumsily, grabbing Hermione and throwing her over his shoulder like a coffee bean sack. She was too exhausted to resist.

"Damn, you're heavier than you look," Professor Chanté grunted and Hermione slipped in his grip, legs raking uselessly over branches and bramble. A haywire tree root tore through her stocking, ripping open a stinging gash she hardly felt. The clearing, she realized with a sense of impending doom, was long gone now.

"S-stop," she finally rasped, although the word felt like knives in her throat.

He didn't seem to hear her. "You know, the first time I met you I said to myself 'there's something different about that girl,'" he said, almost cheerfully. "You proved me right when you tried to plant thoughts in my head after class the first day – oh yes, I knew exactly what you were up to, Hermione – but your magic was much weaker then. So I simply kept an eye on you."

Hermione was stunned. He…he _knew_? But how? Only powerful wizards could sense each other's magic, but she had never gotten such a vibe from Professor Chanté.

"I've seen many things in my travels, Hermione Granger," he continued. "I initially thought you were just a toned-down version of Grindelwald, whose power is rumored about even in the most desolate boondocks of Wallonia, but I still can't seem to figure you out. Can't sense magick either, if you're wondering. I ended up in this shithole in the first place because I was caught smuggling Albanian dragons into the country, but your Ministry let me off on bail, which I am to pay off by keeping watch on ol' Dumbledore, whom they've always been wary of." He chuckled. "Let's just say I have an eye for details… Anyway, I've found a better way to pay my debt now, haven't I?"

He glanced down at her, smug. "I wanted to make this easy on you, was going to be charming and gentlemanly and all that, but you just don't want to like me, do you? Still, regardless of whether or not you are willing to come the Ministry will take you. You're worth a pretty Galleon, I'm sure, and will have a pretty little cage in the Department of Mysteries where they can figure out what the fuck is up with you. What you did to me yesterday is not something a normal witch or wizard is capable of."

His smile turned hard. "And if you weren't so valuable I'd pay you back for it."

Pay her back for it? Because it was _her_ fault he attacked her? It was her fault that he was a scummy smuggler stupid enough to try and sneak a full-grown dragon into foreign territory? Everything was her fault, wasn't it? The essences, the tabloids with not Albus Dumbledore but a mystery killer splashed across their headlines, being sorted into Slytherin, having to go along with such a _flawed _plan and being expected to actually complete it. It was all her fault, was it?

Magic thundered inside her.

"You're not taking me _anywhere,"_ she hissed.

She jerked her knee into Professor Chanté's stomach, grabbing his neck when they smacked the ground and holding on tight. "You crazy bitch," he gasped, reaching for her, but before he could a bright green ribbon of light ricocheted between them and they were blasted apart.

The wood swung around in a pendulum of frosted moss and trees for a second before two hands caught Hermione and steadied her. "Are you alright?" Tom said, touching her cheek.

She nodded quickly. "Yes, but I-"

"This does not concern you, Riddle," Professor Chanté called, and they turned to see him on his feet again, wand in hand, jaw clenched. "Let her go."

Tom lifted his wand. "Was that supposed to be a threat, professor?" he said and Professor Chanté jumped back, face suddenly pale with fright.

His eyes, however, weren't on them.

"Do you hear that?" he said, head whipping around, searching the dark forest. "It sounds like…like trotting."

Trotting? Hermione listened and she heard it too, the clopping of hundreds of hooves pounding against the ground. Horror struck her as she realized what – or better yet, _who _was coming.

"Ah yes, the centaurs," Tom murmured with a wide smile, still advancing on the tensed professor. "Fortunately for them, they will soon be at peace when they finally are able to put a face to the heartless killer of their brethren."

Professor Chanté frowned. "What are you talking-?"

"_Incarcerous!"_

A red beam of light soared toward Professor Chanté and ropes manifested in the air, throwing themselves around the professor and coiling tighter when he struggled. Tom gestured at a nearby weeping willow and Professor Chanté was thrown against its mossy thick trunk, where more ropes slunk around his body, up to his throat, and fastened him to the tree. His wand split inside the bonds.

Tom turned around, ignoring Professor Chanté's frantic grunts and lifting her into his arms. The sound of galloping hooves was louder than ever.

"You're not going to just leave me here," Professor Chanté said incredulously. "You can't. Please, I'll do anything, just l-let me go and you'll never see me again, I swear."

They walked away.

"No, you can't!" he shrieked, voice fading the farther they became. "They'll kill me. Please, let me go!_ Please."_

Hermione's heart was pounding. She thought she heard rumbling thunder and clenched her eyes shut when Lucas Chanté's scream ripped through the night, like a sharpened knife slicked across butter.

A loud thud followed by ringing silence.

Then, an owl hooted and the forest came to life once more.

"Hush, darling," Tom said above her, lips cold as hallowed ground as they flitted over her forehead. "I've got you now."

On the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a figure clad in black appeared and met Hermione's eyes with hollow pits. Death's robes swayed as that mangy black cat stepped out of them and flounced around his feet in a few dizzying circles. Suddenly, the cat gave a spasmodic jerk and keeled over, convulsing. The runes on his patchy head glowed cerulean and he gagged, green eyes bulging. Something feathery, Hermione realized, was poking out of his yawning mouth…

The cat spat hard and, sopping wet on the ground, was a blue quill.

* * *

**AN:** _**Woo wee, **_**that was one busy chapter. Hopefully it made up for the wait? *puppy dog pout* If there are any questions or confusion please ask me about it in a review. I'd be happy to clear things up. **

**Yes, the essences are totally gone from the Forbidden Forest…and all cooped up inside Hermione. Wondering how that will play out for our witch and the task – and Tom Riddle. The next chapter we'll be seeing more of Dumbledore (no, that wasn't really him at the window), who I've been wanting to get in here for a while anyway, and how the school reacts to their dead DADA professor. **

**So, thoughts please! Did you think Professor Chanté's end was too harsh? Or totally justified? Tomione pleasure level on a scale of 1 to 10? Questioning Tom Riddle's sanity? Wanta see his abs? (I do.)**

**You sexies know how I get with reviews, so please do hit my favorite button. *frisky eyebrow wriggle* XOXO. **


	22. An Unwelcome Intervention

**AN: Greetings, my beloveds. *smiles in derpy-fashion* Sorry for the wait again, but this chapter was honestly being a little shit to me. **** I went down to the lib over the weekend to post it, and even though it's been written for well over a month and edited, looking at it in the FF editor I realized it was very slow. And boring. And my eyelids were drooping as I spellchecked. **

**Not good.**

**Anyway, long story short, I trashed that and revamped the whole thing. I feel like this one moves along much more smoothly, etc. and to make up for this last wait hopefully the next chap will be posted sooner. (Yaayy!) Unfortunately, this version 2.0 is lemonless (yes, yes the-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is disappointed, too) while the former version had some *hem, hem* You-Know-What action. **

**Tom Riddle just bitch slapped me.**

**But you know, he's hot so he can.**

**And I'm kinky so…**

***eyebrow wriggle* KK, on with the chapter, amigos! Go, GO! **

* * *

"Professor, may I have a word?" Tom Riddle asked, cordial as ever. He had finally found Dumbledore, who of course turned out to be meaninglessly pacing in the Transfiguration classroom - although what for, he hadn't the faintest idea.

The older man looked up at the interruption in his promenade, surprised, and turned slowly, his powder blue robes swinging and nose straight as a dented cricket bat. Tom wondered how he'd broken it. Did someone smash his face in?

The notion gave him a sense of satisfaction.

"Of course, Mr. Riddle. What is it?" Dumbledore said, seemingly polite.

But he watched him with suspicious blue eyes.

Tom couldn't bring himself to try to charm the man. Dumbledore never seemed to buy into his flattery anyway, so he neither brought up the battle against Grindelwald, nor the missing DADA professor and instead cut right to the chase.

Unfortunately, this made Dumbledore all the more skeptical.

"Professor, I am sure you're aware Christmas break is coming up," he began. "I've celebrated it here since I first came to Hogwarts. All my friends always leave on vacation and I…" He hesitated, as if unsure how to go on although every word he'd said thus far had been carefully planned, every grimace fabricated. "I was hoping that this year I could perhaps stay with Hermione Granger's family during the holidays."

"Hermione Granger?"

Tom hid his dislike swiftly at the sudden sharpness in Dumbledore's tone. He hated surprises – and this had not been the response he anticipated. "Yes, I am courting her, sir." When Dumbledore's frown deepened at this he felt a twinge of irritation, but reined it in. He must not falter. There was time to analyze later. "She is very special to me," he added, staring at his folded hands with a little bashful smile – although out of the corner of his dark eye he watched Dumbledore raptly to see if his words held any sway over the Transfiguration professor.

"Miss Granger is a special witch indeed," Dumbledore eventually said and Tom knew he had not convinced him of his innocence. His mind worked fast, searching for a new tactic, but the professor plunged right on before he could try. "I hope you do not mind my prying into your business, Mr. Riddle," he continued, "but what exactly do you hope to achieve over vacation at Miss Granger's residence?"

"I would like to meet her family and make a good impression," he replied.

"Ah." Dumbledore nodded. "And I am sure they'd be delighted in meeting you. However, it is mandatory you stay on the school grounds for all terms since you have permission from neither a parent nor a guardian, as you well know, Mr. Riddle. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I'm sure Miss Granger will understand. She's a sensible young lady." Case closed, he plucked a lemon drop out of the crystal bowl on his desk and popped it before offering one to Tom. "Treat?"

His jaw clenched.

Dumbledore was taunting him.

Tom could see it in the old man's eyes, the laughter and amusement, and it wore at his brain as the powerful sea chips away at rock. _He thinks he's better than me. He thinks he can stop me. He's wrong, but I'm right. I'm always right-_

"No thank you, professor_,_" he said, with a brief smile. Always in control. Always smiling. "Good day, sir."

He turned on his heel and left the classroom. The door clicked shut and Albus Dumbledore watched it tremble on the frame from the swipe of Dark magic that had unintentionally been released on it, speculating.

In those last sixty seconds, Tom Riddle's magic had let loose for just a moment as anger overrode self-composure, and in that instant Dumbledore recognized the powerful energy crackling in the air from the battle between himself and Grindelwald months ago. It had travelled with the Mysterious Cloaked Figure as he first disarmed Dumbledore and then murdered Gellert. It had been getting steadily stronger ever since Hermione Granger came to Hogwarts.

Hermione Granger, who Tom presently courted. Who had something to do with all of this.

Dumbledore's suspicions were confirmed. Tom Riddle was the murderer of Gellert Grindelwald. But the question was: why? And did he kill Lucas Chanté as well? And how did Miss Granger play into this? Where was the Elder Wand?

Dumbledore did not know, but he intended to find out – and put an end to it immediately.

* * *

_Lines of ink black as mortar cross and web together, forming symbols. No, not symbols – _runes_._ _Runes tattooed on the cat's skull, glowing cerulean on Hermione's wrists, running through her head like they'd been waiting there for centuries, coming out her mouth in a stream of thick smoke greyer than the bleak skies. _

"_Relinquo mihi._ _Ex cineribus resurgam."_

_A woman in a chiffon dress turns, long ebony hair in braids and sapphire-blue eyes narrowed as a hungry smile curls her lips. _

_"Relinquo mihi," she chants. "Ex cineribus resurgam!" _

_And now Hermione's own eyes glow the aqua blue of those runes – runes tattooed on the cat's skull, glowing cerulean on her wrists, running through her head like they'd been waiting there for centuries, coming out her mouth in a stream of thick smoke greyer than the future. _

"_Relinquo mihi," she chants, even as the skin on her bones begins to melt and the ground trembles. "Ex cineribus resurgam-"_

Hermione jolted awake with a gasp. Tom's jumper stuck to her like a second skin, hot and uncomfortable on top of all the sweat pouring down her back. She was soaked. Shaking. _Shaken_.

She shoved up her sleeves, checking if the runes smeared across her wrists were still there. Getting nauseous when she found that, indeed, they were. Stumbling out of bed and running to the Head's bathroom as fast as her feet could carry her. Vomiting. Twice.

She washed up at the sinks, blinking sparkly dots out of her vision and rubbing some spearmint toothpaste around her gums. She rinsed her face repeatedly, trying to get rid of the heat simmering like hot lava under her skin. Everything was too loud, too clear, too blurry, too dark, too bright.

She closed her eyes for peace.

_Runes. _She saw them, stuck on the underside of her eyelids, inescapable.

A reminder of what happened two days ago. Suffocating her.

Yesterday, school had been cancelled when Chanté's body was found. The students were afraid. The Ministry was notified immediately. Sent officials presently guarded the Forbidden Forest to make sure no one got in and nothing got out – but they were too late now, for the DADA professor had been murdered, a centaur killed, and one seventh-year student was now the host for what could potentially be very dangerous essences.

But today was a new day.

Or so Hermione told herself.

It was an opportunity to research, to find out what really happened the night she died, and – above all – to get better. Yesterday, she had been so sick, so _tired _that she could hardly open her eyes to watch Tom flit about the room, flipping through the lone book they'd scrounged up on essences, trying to figure out the mystery, to figure out what happened, taking the sheets off her when she became so hot it was unbearable and laying down beside her when it seemed the room's temperature had plunged to ten degrees below zero. She still felt weak, but she wouldn't let the feeling last.

She hated being useless.

"Cat?" she whispered to the empty bathroom. The word sounded like a croak. "Cat, come here and tell me what's going on."

Nothing happened.

Hermione rubbed her rolling stomach. It was no use eating anything, because it didn't stay down, and there was hardly any relief to be found in sleeping, because dreams fancied turning into nightmares. It was still another three hours until school started.

She tried calling that mangy cat again.

Without success.

* * *

"Hermione, wake up. Breakfast starts in ten minutes."

Hermione found a fully-dressed, impeccable Tom Riddle thrusting the pair of robes she'd worn when they went out to the Forbidden Forest a day ago at her. _The house-elves must have washed them, _she thought, breathing in the spring scent of laundry detergent and thinking of S.P.E.W. with a guilty twinge.

"Are you going to get ready or just sit there sniffing your stockings all day?" Tom said exasperatedly.

She smiled sleepily. "Well, they do smell quite nice…"

He glared at her.

"Oh, I'm going, I'm going. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Peeping Tom." And she shuffled over to the loo, ignoring it when he threatened to curse her into oblivion if she didn't move faster.

Men.

When they arrived at the Great Hall, the vast room was not filled with its usual, cheerful chatter but whispery and tense, and Hermione felt the hush bearing down on the cafeteria like it was a physical presence. Impossible to disrupt, to mend, to break.

The simple clinking of cutlery seemed obnoxious in this ringing silence.

Headmaster Dippet's paranoia was glaringly evident, she soon realized as she took her usual seat and surveyed the Great Hall. His beady eyes looked up from an untouched plate every other minute to sweep over the hall, past the house tables, to the entrance doors, then back, and ending on a quick glance at Dumbledore. Looking further down the staff table, Hermione saw that in the DADA professor's former chair sat a tall, thin woman whose physique was as reedy as her hair was mousy. A fraction of her face was just giant horned specs.

The substitute.

Talk was sparse while everyone ate. Tom kept his left hand high on her thigh all through the meal, rubbing mindless circles every now and then when their schoolmates whispered gossiping bored him, examining the others' facial expressions, measuring her own, constantly scrutinizing and calculating. It was unnerving.

And comforting too, in an odd sort of way.

Dolohov read the Daily Prophet more attentively than usual, and Rosy and Fabia lamented Professor Chanté's death, saying it was a pity such handsomeness went down the drain like that. Elphy touched up her French manicure using the bottle of nail polish she always carried around in her skirt waistband, only joining the conversation when _Witch Weekly _came up.

Hermione didn't eat anything in case the food made a reappearance in the middle of Potions.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Hermione," Elphy said ironically, shooting her a glossy smile and waving her nails through the air to dry them. "You had us all worried when we saw you after dinner on Tuesday. I wanted to visit you in the hospital wing yesterday, but of course we all had to go back to our common rooms when they found…well, you know…_the_ _body_."

Fabia and Rosy agreed.

"It's alright-" She started to say, but stopped when she looked up from her cold hash and found Meredith Smith staring at her. Eerily. The girl didn't look away when caught either, nor did she blink – and for a brief moment, staring into that gaze, Hermione thought she saw a terrible _rage _surface in the brown orbs and shade their dark irises.

But it was just as swiftly replaced by a trancelike vacancy.

Confused, Fabia and Rosy looked around to see who she was watching and scowled on finding their former Queen Bee looking on, who finally averted her eyes. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"What a freak," Fabia muttered, disturbed. "Doesn't she know to mind her own business?"

"I bet you she upped Chanté," Rosy added conspiratorially. "I hear her groan and make odd noises in her sleep all the time."

"Weirdo."

"More like _psycho."_

They snickered.

Regulus showed then, with Abraxas at his side and a schoolbag slung over one shoulder. Their clothes were rumpled and hair windblown. They looked to be fresh off the battlefield, Hermione thought wryly.

"Did you hear the news?" said Regulus, sitting down. Abraxas, in turn, took his place a seat down from Elphy, who was on Hermione's left and discontentedly finishing off a measly sprig of asparagus. "There won't be any Hogsmeade trips _for the rest of the school year – _and Quidditch is cancelled until 'further notice'!"

"No Hogsmeade trips?" Elphy repeated, shocked. "But they can't just do that-"

"They can," Abraxas said grimly, and for once, the Slytheriness didn't snap at him for interrupting. He looked miserable. "No more weekend trips, no games, no nothing. We've been cut off."

"But why?" Fabia said.

"Well, Dippet says those dirty centaurs killed Chanté, but the Ministry thinks there's a murderer running around. After what happened in fifth year they've decided to send someone to intervene, and no one is allowed outside of the castle walls until break when we all leave," Regulus explained. "There are rumors Dippet is going to get the boot as well."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that," Dolohov grumbled from the deep depths of twenty pages of newspaper, and Fabia said that she'd heard Dippet had a nervous breakdown after supper yesterday. Hermione glanced at Tom nervously, but he was listening to the conversation and didn't seem to notice.

Or he pretended not to, at least.

"It's not fair we've got to pay for that," Rosy said, crossing her arms and shooting their nervy Headmaster an ice-cold glare. "What about our annual Christmas trip? How will we get presents now? What about shopping?"

"What Christmas trip?" Hermione said, surprised. Elphy explained to her that it was a Slytherin tradition, always done a week or so before everyone left for break and looked forward to all school year. Hermione mulled over this and shot another look at Tom, who arched a brow at her this time. She looked back at Elphy.

Thinking.

"Well... there _is_ one way to get into Hogsmeade," Hermione said slowly.

Abraxas scoffed. "And what could that possibly be? By unicorn? With the aid of Merlin?"

She ignored his sarcasm. "No. By shortcut."

"What shortcut?" Regulus said, stooped. "I've never seen any shortcuts in Hogwarts."

"And how do you know about it? This is your first year here," Fabia interjected skeptically.

Hermione shrugged. "Oh, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History," _she said, although this was a bold-faced lie. The shortcut was actually one of many from the Marauder's Map Fred and George had given Harry in their third year. Tom shot her a curious look. "I could get us into Hogsmeade," she continued, "if you're up for it."

A thrilled smile blossomed on Elphy's glittery lips. "Oh Hermione, that'd be _wonder-"_

"But only if Tom comes," she added.

All the occupants of the table – the ones who were listening in anyway – froze and turned to Tom Riddle, who still regarded Hermione suspiciously. What did she want him to go to Hogsmeade for? And what was this business about a shortcut? He had read _Hogwarts: A History _more than once and not one chapter mentioned any loopholes in the school grounds.

"Oh pleasepleasepleasegoTom!" Fabia burst out, interrupting his thoughts. She clasped her hands as if in prayer and not a second later, Rosy and Elphy had joined in, sounding like starving Chihuahuas as they pleaded. The Head Boy looked severely irritated.

"Alright, alright, quit your sniveling," he said, annoyed. "I'll go."

Hermione beamed. Finally, she had come up with a new step for the task – simple, humane, and all on her own.

The bell rang for first period and the students rose all at once, hustling out of the Great Hall and resuming their rowdiness as soon as they were out of the agitated Headmaster's sight. Hermione and Tom walked to Potions, side-by-side, fingers brushing every now and then but never intertwining.

In class, Slughorn - as all the teachers had been instructed - did not publicize Professor Chanté's death and instead acted as though nothing had ever happened, getting on with their lesson like it was just another normal day at Hogwarts. Hermione tried to pretend it was – but thoughts of clomping hooves and Professor Chanté's blood curdling scream were hard to suppress.

Worse, drowsiness was closing in on her already.

She and Tom worked through the class quickly enough, however, and when the period ended she felt nervous. She hadn't been away from Tom since she accepted the essences in the Forbidden Forest, and even being with him all day and night yesterday had not gotten rid of her strange coming and going fatigue or sickness…

Tom stopped them outside of the Herbology classroom and they waited until the Charms professor ambled by, staggering under the cumbersome weight of a stack of scrolls and textbooks, trudging away with muttered oaths and grumblings. Hermione watched the professor go with a frown.

"I'll see you in Transfiguration," Tom said once he was gone. "Do you think you'll be alright alone?"

"Of course I will be." She summoned what she hoped was a convincing smile. "It's only a few periods, Tom."

"I'm counting on that," he said quietly. His magic was already slowly peeling away from hers and she steeled herself, fighting not to scrabble after it. She did, however, press her lips against his. And kept them there.

It made her feel a little better.

He drew away, smirking. "Go to class, Hermione."

"Alright, alright, I'm going."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Go."

Quickly, she kissed him – hard – and hurried into the classroom. His laughter was cut off by the door swinging shut.

Hermione sat across Regulus in her usual seat, meeting Augusta's eyes briefly before they both awkwardly looked away in opposite directions. She fidgeted. Her stomach was already cramping from the discomfort of having Tom's magic so far away from hers – but she ignored the uncomfortable sensations and talked to Regulus all through class about trivial, meaningless things - namely, Divinations coursework - while they watered and tended their Man-Eating tulip bulbs.

* * *

When Hermione arrived at Transfiguration it was most disappointedly not to find Tom already there, but a half-filled classroom and Dumbledore awaiting her. She felt the professor's eyes follow her as she walked in, but avoided meeting them.

Hermione sat in her seat beside Hayley Abott, who sniffled loudly into a soggy tissue over the deceased Professor Chanté, and by the time Tom finally did enter, she had realized something was wrong with Dumbledore. He was watching her too closely, and when Tom came in, his blue eyes stealthily slipped back and forth between them, even as she made sure not to let her magic rip across the room and combine with its counterpart the way it so desperately wanted to.

Dumbledore was looking for something.

But what?

Class passed by at a torturously slow rate. Hermione felt the ache for Tom's magic deep in her body like hunger pains and, so distracted by her discomfort, didn't even hear Dumbledore teaching the class instructions to Transfigure a lamp into a talking parakeet. Hayley Abott frowned at her through reddened eyes. "Are you feeling alright, Hermione?" she asked, voice nasally and thick with snot.

Hermione breathed in deep and let out a short pained hiss between clenched teeth. "Yes," she ground out. "I'm fine."

Hayley didn't say anything else for the rest of the period.

Moments before the bell rang, students were already halfway out of their seats, heading to the door, chattering and laughing and hurrying. Hermione met Tom's eyes over the bobbing heads and shouts; his own flashed at her–

"Miss Granger, may I have a word?" Dumbledore said kindly.

She looked up, startled, and dropped her head in a fast nod at the professor's expectant gaze. "Of course, professor," she replied, although she was afraid of what Dumbledore might have to say to her.

Had he found them out?

Was he going to ask her about Professor Chanté?

What if he knew about the essences?

What if he knew she was a _time traveller? _

No, he couldn't know that. That wasn't possible. She had taken all the necessary pracautions.

Hermione shook these paranoid thoughts off and followed the professor to his desk, locking eyes with Tom briefly before he vacated the classroom.

"What was it you needed to see me for, professor?" Hermione asked. She tried not to sound anxious, but she couldn't help wanting to get this intervention over with as soon as possible.

"Miss Granger, I do not mean to pry, for you are a very capable witch and surely able to look after yourself," Dumbledore began, folding his hands before him. His turquoise eyes probed hers. "However, I am worried by your association with Mr. Riddle."

She blinked. Well, that was unexpected.

"I'm sorry?"

He smiled at her confusion. "Mr. Riddle is courting you, correct?"

"Um…yes?" It sounded like a question. She tried again, with more conviction. "Yes. He is."

"Miss Granger, I believe I explained to you earlier that while illusions may appear very…real, fascinating even, that they are in actuality fickle, dangerous things and as a result quite deceptive," he said, referring to the analogy he had used months ago when he first warned her away from Tom. However, now Hermione had very little reason to listen to Dumbledore's odd metaphors at all. Even in her own time, he hadn't turned out to be all too reliable. Why should she listen to him now when doing so before had gotten her nothing but trouble and heartache? And, oh yeah, almost _killed?_

"Mr. Riddle came to me yesterday, asking to stay with your family during Christmas," Dumbledore continued. "However, your parents have…excuse me…passed away, Miss Granger." He tilted his head. "Now, why would Mr. Riddle ask me this if he knows your family is deceased?"

"I have cousins in Geneva who have invited me to their home for Christmas," she said calmly. "I'm sorry, professor, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't see how any of this pertains to you…?"

Suddenly, Dumbledore's voice was sharp and thunderous as she had never heard it – at least, not directed at her. She winced. "Miss Granger, please do not insult my intelligence by pretending," he said sternly. "I know you and Mr. Riddle have bound your magic. Need I remind you that such an act is highly illegal?"

Hermione gaped at him. "I-"

"A Ministry official will be here after break to investigate Professor Chanté's passing," he said, adjusting his half-moon glasses and peering at her. "I would not want to report something like this, especially when the consequences – the _punishment_ – is so severe. You are young, Miss Granger, but both you and Mr. Riddle would be tried as adults should you be granted a trial. If I were to report this…"

She was stunned. "Professor, are you threatening me?"

"Miss Granger, please." Dumbledore frowned. "I'm only trying to help you."

Hermione was quiet.

"You see, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said softly. "An old friend of mine once tried to persuade me to bind our magic. This friend was…charming, to say the least, and very manipulative. This friend wanted me to bind our power, 'to make us stronger' so he put it – but he really only wanted all of it for himself."

_Grindelwald. _She didn't have to ask who the friend was. Hermione chewed her lip contemplatively. "I… What happened then, professor?" she finally asked.

"I was lucky enough to get out of the relationship before things could get out of hand."

She blanched.

"It is not too late for you to stop this either, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said gently. "Perhaps the allure of power, of having double the amount of magic, feels wonderful. Perhaps better than that." He sighed. "I assume that you care for Mr. Riddle very much and that this connection makes you feel closer to him, but please think rationally. What you have done is dangerous. It must come to an end before it is too late."

"'Before it's too late'?" she said, bewildered. "What do you mean, professor?"

"I mean that what you have with Mr. Riddle is not a full magical bond. There must be a final act to connect the both of you permanently." Dumbledore hesitated. "Usually, it is an act of great intimacy and sentiment. It is irreversible."

Hermione blushed as the meaning of _an__ act of great intimacy_ sank in. Of course, Dumbledore meant sex.

"Miss Granger, Tom Riddle is a dangerous young man," the Transfiguration professor continued to venture, trying to make her see reason, to see past her heart. "He has killed."

She frowned. "The Chamber of Secrets incident was years ago, professor, and there was never any evidence that he-"

"This is true, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted, "but there _is_ evidence that proves Mr. Riddle is the killer of Gellert Grindelwald."

Hermione froze, his words repeating themselves in her head in a horrible mantra. _Mr. Riddle is the killer of Gellert Grindelwald. Mr. Riddle is the killer of Gellert Grindelwald. MrRiddleisthekillerofGellertGrindelwald-_

"What evidence?" she said warily.

"Mr. Riddle's magic is unusually strong, Miss Granger. I recognized it in Germany, where I met Grindelwald for the last time," Dumbledore responded. "And I now realize it has been present for months here on this very castle."

He did? It was? But how? Hermione's brain worked fast, connecting the dots and all too quickly understanding Dumbledore's reasoning. What logic she found horrified her. _Of_ _course_ he would mistaken her magic for Tom's. They had been long connected by the time of Dumbledore and Grindelwald's battle, even if she did not know it herself, and her magic had already begun to possess qualities of his, qualities Dumbledore had misjudged to be Tom Riddle's magic completely.

Oh _crap_.

"Professor, that can't be right," Hermione said quickly. "Tom was here in the castle that day."

Dumbledore was sympathetic. "Miss Granger, I know you would not want to believe this. I understand it is quite hard to think someone so close to you could do something so terrible-"

"Professor, Tom did not kill Gellert Grindelwald," she said, earnestly. "I don't who the Mysterious Cloaked Figure or whoever is, but it wasn't him. He was here with me that day on the Astronomy Tower. We went there because he couldn't go to Hogsmeade. We had a picnic."

Dumbledore stared at her, obviously surprised, and for an instant... she almost felt bad for lying to him.

Then she was surprised that guilt was hard pressed to come to her at all.

"I'm sorry, professor, but I have to go to lunch." Hermione neared the door and nodded at the future Headmaster cursorily. "Have a good day, professor. Excuse me."

And she left him alone in the classroom, shaking with barely-controlled panic as she speedily strode down the empty corridors. Her thoughts raced. Dumbledore knew about the magical bond, he knew _and_ he thought Tom had murdered Grindelwald. It wouldn't be long until he found out it was her, until he sensed and recognized her magic – but if Hermione was lucky, by then they will have graduated and be far from Hogwarts – or could she pin the blame on someone else? But was there any other person to be framed? No, no that was wrong. She couldn't do that to someone.

_And I don't owe Dumbledore anything anymore, _she thought.

Hermione found herself standing outside the Headmaster's office.

The Founder's magic was available and ready, but she didn't call on it, instead drawing from the vault of power her and Tom's magic had now become: a darker force just as willing to submit to this task. To convince Dippet to agree, to let Tom leave the castle and go to her nonexistent cousin's home in Switzerland, to think it _such_ a splendid idea that no one_ - _not even Dumbledore - could change his mind.

To crowd logic out of her brain.

To take her down a new path.

To perhaps change everything, forever.

For better.

And just as easily, for worse.

* * *

**AN: GAH, I know, I know the chapter is short (sorry!). The next chapter will hopefully be posted much sooner _(maybe_ even this weekend?) and is definitely lengthier. This update was mainly the aftermath of a murdered Hogwarts professor, Dumbledore facetime, and mysterious, vague hintings at the results of those freaky essences... (which will be taking a big role very, very soon). XD Also, I have posted a new FF titled _Daddy Dearest,_ which I hope to so persuasively commute you all to. **

**Yes, it is Tomione. **

**And M-rated. **

**And Victorian Era.**

**And hopefully interesting. **

**And a little OOC. **

**But anyway... Please leave a review! The-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is needing some love right now, and the only way he's gonna get it is through your delightful feedback (and, ahem, Hermione's badass BJS). ;) **

**MUAHMUAHKISSES!**


	23. Fantastic, Terrible Things

**AN: Oh...my...penis...  
**

**(JK, I have ovaries.) ANYWAY, thanks to everyone who reviewed and favorited, etc. I told you I'd update quickly. ;) Also, if you didn't notice this story now has a loooovvveeeellllyyy banner made by _shiverpass, _who is totally bitch ass. *shyeah* Unfortunately, it got all cropped and squished on the FF thingy majig, but you can see the full version if you check out her tumblr 'shiverpassgraphics.' It's pretty bitchin'.**

**Just like all of you lovely Tomione whores. **

* * *

Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were slow, miniature hells. Hermione's head pounded from the ministrations of a mental hammer beating at her skull from the inside, her thoughts moved at a snail's pace, and second by second she felt herself becoming more drained - more _irritable._ Like a grizzly bear rudely awakened from his hibernation.

Magicking Dippet into allowing Tom Riddle to leave the castle for Christmas break may not have been the very brightest idea, Hermione thought groggily. Doing so had taken its toll on her when she was already weak from… from… Well, she still didn't know what exactly she was weak from, did she? She only knew the essences were to blame for her odd behavior and – in ways – for the magical bond as well. Her body was adjusting to them. _She _was adjusting.

But if only she could adjust faster.

When Hermione entered the DADA classroom, she saw Tom's reaction to her all too clearly. His brow furrowed and two dark eyes zeroed in on her within seconds, nearly stopping her mid-step, and instantly, he stretched out his magic for hers. Some of the tenseness coiling his rigid shoulders loosened when she quickened pace and a relieved sigh automatically tumbled out her mouth when his cool fingers finally clasped hers.

Tom was aggravated. She could tell, although he hid it expertly - but what she did not know was the reason behind the emotion. She did not know that it was her own agitation, her weakness, that made _him _feel restless, that made him want to put her at ease for the explicit reason so that he himself could feel calm again. It was a high price to pay, binding magic with Hermione when at school it hardly helped and mainly crippled him since they were so often far away from each other, but he was dead set on the finish. In the end, this would all be worth his rise.

And of course, being needed by Hermione was a positive all by itself.

He drank in that relief sagging her shoulders when she caught sight of him, thrived off the way she had begun to cling to his side and kiss him so reverently. Soon there would nothing in her world _but _him. Then that nothingness bugging the hollow corner of his brain would be filled, the bottomless pit that hungered for attention and adoration appeased. He'd seduce, trap, and eat her whole. Again and again and again, until there was nothing left but a husk to dispose of.

Because now that he had her, there was no way out – not for either of them.

"Hold on for a few minutes," Tom said quietly into her ear and a faint tickle went through Hermione at the casual touch of his lips. She shivered. "We'll leave then."

"To where?" she asked.

"Down the hall," he said. "Somewhere private."

The substitute bounced forward at that moment, eyes huge and startling behind her horned specs as they took in the classroom. After she painstakingly marked attendance, pronouncing each and every name incorrectly except for two, it quickly became glaringly obvious that Professor Portebello was a little on the dim side - and not qualified to teach a Defense class.

In fact, she had a degree in Charms.

Cleaning Charms, to be exact.

"Now everyone, say it with me," she exclaimed, waving her wand in huge, sweeping motions ten minutes later. "_Disparitus Dust Bunnies!"_

"_Disparitus Dust Bunnies," _the class echoed in a monotone.

"Excellent, excellent!" she chittered and paused on seeing Tom raise his hand. "Yes, boy?"

"May I escort Miss Granger to the nurse, ma'am?" he asked politely. "I'm afraid she isn't feeling very well."

"Oh, the poor dear," Professor Portebello said, frowning at Hermione sympathetically, who did her best to look pale and sickly – not to hard a feat in her present state. "Yes, yes, take her and take your things too! Don't bother coming back. We wouldn't want those pesky germs spreading around, now would we?"

"Of course, professor," he replied.

"_Disparitus Dust Bunnies," _the class said again as he and Hermione left the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Tom ushered them through the corridors briskly, his hand a fiery imprint on her back and steering them into an empty Magical Theory classroom. As Hermione waited for him to secure it she was briefly reminded of the night of Slughorn's soiree two months ago, of finding Meredith half-alive and half-dead, and confronting Tom in the Head dorms. She hated him back then, didn't she?

And there had been so much blood…

The door shut, snapping her out of her thoughts, and Tom cast a Locking Charm on it a split-second before turning to her. She frowned. "What did you lock the door for?"

"I don't want anyone interrupting us." He pocketed his wand, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms. They stalled in silence for a minute. "What happened in Transfiguration?" Tom finally said, stoniness giving way to demand. "What did Dumbledore say to you?"

"Things." It was a vague answer, but she couldn't tell him the truth. The last thing she wanted to do was give him another reason to hate Dumbledore, even if the professor was not without black marks in her own book.

Attracting Tom's attention to the Grindelwald incident was not a very good idea either.

"What about during Transfiguration?" Tom pushed. His magic rose with his impatience, bathing her in a warm, candlelight glow. "You didn't look well."

"Hm?" she murmured, distracted. "Oh yes, I felt sick…"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You said you would be alright this morning, Hermione. I told you you didn't have to come-"

"I thought I was fine, really, and I'm feeling better already." This part was true, even a touch simple as his fingers on her cheek had her feeling invigorated, more animated with each passing second. She turned her face into his palm, nuzzling it.

He pulled away with a scowl. "Well, what's this about a shortcut to Hogsmeade?" he said. "I've read _Hogwarts: A History _more than twice and I've never seen anything of the sort in its contents."

She shrugged. "I know things."

"How forthcoming of you," he said drily.

"I spoke to Headmaster Dippet," Hermione added when his suspicious glare did not lighten. "He said and I quote, 'How wonderful it will be for Mr. Riddle to see the Alps this holiday season.'"

At this, Tom blinked and shook his head slowly, but there was a grin on his lips now. "Well done, darling," he said and she smiled triumphantly, leaning in for a kiss. "I think you've earned a present, in fact," he whispered against her lips.

"Really?" she said, surprised.

"Of course. You'll get it come Christmas." He breezed his mouth across hers again and she met him willingly, nipping his bottom lip until he let her reach tongue. Scratched her nails through his hair. Laughed. Sighed.

"Dinner starts soon," he said, pulling back a few minutes later. "Shall we?"

There were whispers about the newest couple in Hogwarts, glances both admiring and envious all through supper. Tom met any eyes lingering on Hermione with an icy glower that sent boys looking away in a hurry, and he kept his arm around her waist all through the meal, telling her to eat something after ten minutes of staring at her empty plate in annoyance. She complied, eating dinner slowly, – just in case it didn't agree with her – and listened to Elphy and Abraxas debate the importance of sportswear verses the importance of a correct shoe size…or something like that. Anyhow, she soon lost interest and her mind inevitably wandered to Dumbledore. She wasn't sure how she felt about her future Headmaster anymore.

How could she trust someone who had kept so much from her?

"OK, that's enough chowing, princess. Fabia and Rosy already have a head start on us," Elphy said suddenly, springing to her feet. "Let's go!"

"Go where?" she said, bewildered. "To bed?"

"I'll come," Abraxas exclaimed readily. But his stupid grin faltered when everyone at the table glared at him. "Eh…just kidding."

"Twat," Elphy snapped. She turned back to Hermione. "We're going to get ready for the Slug Club, sans Abraxas," she clarified and narrowed her cat-green Cleopatra eyes at Malfoy when he winked at them meaningfully. Regulus smacked a goblin history textbook over the back of his head with a satisfying _clunk_.

"Thank you, Regulus," Elphy said primly, while Abraxas cursed them all to hell and hurried to fix his hair with the aid of a spoon.

Regulus looked sage. "No problem."

"But I'm not fi-" Hermione began.

"Oh come on, you'll see your beau later," her friend teased, dragging her away from the Slytherin table before she could say another word. Hermione hastened to snatch her schoolbag off the bench, shooting another frantic glance at Tom as she was hauled through the cafeteria. His marble lips were curled in a frown.

"Don't give me that look, princess. It's better to make them wait," Elphy stage-whispered when they were far enough away for the boys not to hear. Hermione raised a brow at her. Elphy snickered. "Silly Hermione, you'll see what I mean eventually. You'll see."

They entered the Slytherin common room, brushing past Ernie Johnson who tried to make a pass on Elphy and going upstairs to the girl dormitory. Rosy and Fabia were inside, their enchanted record player merrily piping a jazzy tune. Rosy chugged a swig from her secret bottle of imported wine, sputtering it all over herself and hastening to hide it in a third-year's pillowcase when the door opened.

"It's just us, Rosy," Elphy said, taking in the sight of fresh wine stains on Rosy's blouse with an unladylike snort. "You can get as wasted as you want."

Fabia sniggered and Rosy shoved a cork into the bottle lip, scowling. "I'm not getting drunk for Salazar's sake! I was just relaxing."

"Whatever." Elphy strode up to a bed beside Hermione's, smiling widely at the girl reading a book there. "What's your name?" she said sweetly, twirling her wand.

"Angelica Carmen Ricardo the Third, of-"

"Well, Angelica, are you going to move or do I have to make you?"

"…but this is my-"

"_Move." _

The fourth-year got up in a huff. "I'm telling my father about this!"

"Go ahead, see if I care." The girl stomped by Elphy, who plucked the book out of her hands and gasped dramatically on reading the cover. "Ooh, look what we have here, girls. _A Steamy Stroll in the Wood. _I wonder what _father _will say about this."

"What? That's my Charms textbook-"

"But who is Slughorn going to believe, Angelica? One of his favorite students or a little pimply thirteen-year old?"

"I'm fourteen."

"You're a twit."

"Fine, fine, I'll leave," the girl hissed. "At the very least, may I have my book back? I need to study."

Elphy pursed her lips in thought, looking just like a porcelain china doll with her petite crimson mouth and long inky eyelashes. A china doll turned evil, that is, Hermione thought grimly. "Perhaps next week," she finally said. "You can use the one in the lost and found until you've made up for inconveniencing me."

"But-"

"Shall I make it two?"

The girl bit her lip sharply and balled her hands into fists, turning on her heel and striding out of the dormitory with every ounce of Pureblood dignity she could muster. Rosy looked up from her fashion magazine. "Did that dolt finally leave?" she drawled.

"Yes, at last." Elphy dropped on the vacated bed with a sigh and tossed Rosy the Charms textbook. "Here, dispose of this somewhere."

"What am I supposed to do with this rubbish?"

"I don't know, throw it out."

"But I don't want to-"

"Well, I don't care whether or not you want to, now do I-"

"Would you two shut up?" Hermione interrupted, rubbing her aching temples. She felt bad enough without Tom's magic and their bickering was just making her headache worse. "You make me want to hex off my bloody eardrums."

"Sorry, Hermione," Rosy and Elphy said in unison, looking contrite.

"I am just so excited for the meeting tonight," Fabia gushed, leafing through the garment bags in her trunk. "I want to look extra good for Abraxas."

"Abraxas?" said Hermione, surprised.

"She's fancied him since first-year," Elphy said, rolling those sea-green eyes at Hermione in the reflection of a gilded mirror mounted on the wall. She was twisting her strawberry blonde hair into a complex fishbone. "Everyone knows about Fab's in-fuck-tuation."

"In-fuck-tuation?"

Rosy snorted with laughter. "Fab wants to shag the sanity right out of him, or so she says-"

"Would you shut it?" Fabia snapped. "Merciful Salazar, I can't say anything without having it broadcasted to the whole damn house."

"Well, it's not as if you try to hide it," Elphy snickered. "There are two reasons why he hasn't courted you. One, Abraxas gets hot for anything with a pulse. Two, you keep throwing yourself at him and every respectable girl knows men like a good chase." She smirked, adding as an afterthought, "Not that being a man _whore_ makes Abraxas a man particularly."

"I do not throw myself at him! And he's got a very capable prick, actually," Fabia hissed, "so I doubt his masculinity is in jeopardy."

"You slut," Rosy accused. "You gave him head, didn't you?"

Fabia shrugged. "He was bored after Potions."

"Helga Hufflepuff, save me from these sinful mental images Fabia taints me with," Elphy muttered. She touched the crown of her head, satisfied with her stylish do, and turned to Hermione. "Alright, now it's your turn."

"Um, no thank-"

"Wasn't a question," she said, forcing her into the stool in front of the vanity. "Rosy told us about the fashion statement or whatever we're making at the Club and I do like it – it's a brilliant idea, ignoring Sluggy's rules should be a riot – however, we'll need the hair to pull it off."

Hermione sighed loudly at this, defeated. She didn't have the energy to argue and the sooner she got back to Tom the better anyway. Elphy whacked her lightly on the shoulder with a silver hairbrush at her groan, muttering something that was surely not flattering in Polish under her breath.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Fabia said, fingering the coral-blue cocktail dress she had just pulled out with a frown. The skirt was silk, the neckline beaded with pearls. It looked expensive.

"Ooh, that's right, I forgot to tell you!" Rosy smiled innocently when Fabia slanted her eyes at her. "Hermione said we have to go to tonight's gathering in our uniforms instead of dresses. We're making a statement or something."

"Statement? What statement?"

"Actually, I never explicitly said we had to do anything. I just don't have a-" Hermione tried to say, but was cut off when Elphy pressed her lips together and swept a streak of lipstick across her mouth. Then she snatched up a tissue and started blotting it, effectively shutting Hermione up.

"Look, you can wear that dress if you want to, Fab," Elphy said and Fabia looked relieved, but her expression quickly cowed into insecurity when the Slytheriness continued. "We simply won't consort with you at the meeting. You can mingle with the Gryffindors."

"Gryffindors? I-I'm not going to talk to those ill-tempered gits!" Fabia screeched. Hermione bristled a little.

"Then don't wear the dress." Elphy put down the eyelash curler and ran her hands through Hermione's hair, which now hung down nearly a foot longer in shiny ringlets. Peering in the mirror, Hermione realized she looked reminiscent to an older version of Goldilocks.

She wiped the lip gunk off when Elphy wasn't looking.

"I like your dress, Fab."

The girls started at the interjection, looking around to find a trussed-up Meredith Smith stared back at them, her smoky eyes on Fabia, black hair glossy once again and straight as a pin. "You should wear it," she added.

Fabia glanced at the other girls nervously, clearly not wanting to speak to her former best friend. Hermione watched as Meredith, who looked like her old self in that dark blue dress and tear-drop diamond earrings, stepped forward. Fabia's uncertainty quickly morphed into disgust.

"Well, your opinion isn't worth a Knut, is it?" she sneered. Meredith blinked and Rosy erupted into a fit of giggles. Fabia smirked at them triumphantly, dropping the two-thousand-Galleon gown in her trunk like it was a rusty Bludger and snapping it shut with finality. "I'll wear my uniform."

Meredith's face colored with rage, but almost as instantly as the emotion had appeared it vanished and blankness smoothed her expression. "Of course," she said, voice empty of feeling as her suddenly vacant eyes. "I'm sorry."

The girls ignored her and Hermione watched Meredith brush past them, disappearing through the door to the common room. She frowned. _That is _not_ normal,_ she thought, disturbed. _She would never have let anyone walk all over her like that before…_

But then she stopped. Meredith would never have let anyone walk all over her before _what_ exactly?

"What a freak," Rosy scoffed, cutting Hermione's thoughts off before they could get too far. "Does she think apologies are going to get her anywhere?"

"We better go." This from Elphy, who was tucking her wand into her skirt waistband next to the nail polish bottle. "The meeting starts in ten minutes."

They left and Hermione's worries over Meredith Smith were forgotten the closer they became to the Potions room. Her hands itched with anticipation, magic buzzing eagerly at the prospect of nearing its counterpart even as she tried to tamp it down a notch.

The girls entered the Slug Club to find all the usual classroom equipment had been done away with, including the cauldrons, desks, and Brewing Safety posters. Floating candles now lit the room in a yellow glow, velvet pouffes and lush couches cozying the atmosphere - making the soiree seem more like a snogging hotspot for teenage couples than a school club, Hermione noted with some horror – and a large mahogany circle table stood in the center of the party, a bowl of ice cream in front of each seated occupant.

Slughorn looked a little stunned at the Slytherins' state of dress, but did not comment except to chortle heartily and resume his conversation with William Fudge after a playful chiding waggle of his sausage-like finger. Fabia sauntered up to Abraxas, who at that very moment dropped his spoon and had to duck under the table to hunt the utensil down for a solid five minutes. Regulus helped him look for it.

On the far side of the table sat Tom, looking just like a sepia snapshot of an 18th century gentleman with his pressed robes and wavy raven-black hair. The few Death Eaters in the Slug Club sat situated around him, save for an empty chair on his right. He looked up, gesturing for her to come - plunging everything into darkness with his eyes for a stunted heartbeat.

Hermione froze.

No longer did Dark magic seem to pervade the air – it now came from inside her, like blood on your tongue and burning ember pumped through the veins. _He_ reeked of it; his magic drawing her in like a moth to a flame, into a blazing pyre she wanted to burn up in, the eternal desire in her shrieking louder when he got close – and for a brief instant, she didn't even see the refurbished Potions classroom at all, but the Forbidden Forest, lifeless and thick with erotic Dark magic that surrounded them in its all entrenching depths.

Then the vision fizzled out.

Tom lifted her hand, kissing it feather-light and well aware of the many transfixed stares trained on them. The table seemed to draw a collective breath, for even if they were too weak to see true power the students seemed to sense the magnetic pull between the two of them. He relished their envy; they could never have what was his_._

"Hermione, darling," he greeted.

She glanced around them nervously and flushed, embarrassed by the stares. "Hi Tom."

A fourth-year Hufflepuff fanned herself with a silk handkerchief and Elphy shot a smug smirk at Rosy, who grudgingly passed her one of the garish rings adorning her left hand. Slughorn found Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger adorable to watch.

"How splendid to see all of my most promising students altogether again," the Potions Master boomed, patting his bulging stomach in satisfaction and calling them all to attention. "Now everyone, I know these past few weeks have been hard due to…difficult circumstances, but please enjoy this time with your friends and appreciate what you have. Life can be quite fickle and our dear Professor Chanté is a reminder of how precious each minute we have is. Wizard or Muggle, we are all human and anything but indestructible."

The students nodded solemnly. Tom inclined his head after a moment.

"Well, aside from that morbid note, do eat your ice cream," said Slughorn, with a renewed cheerfulness. His ginger-blonde mustache wriggled with delight. "It is quite delicious, if I do say so myself."

The Slug Club was, as it had been in Hermione's time, a bit dull and quite boring. After finishing their desserts, the teenagers stood and assembled into their usual house groups: the Slytherins and Gryffindors on complete opposite sides of the room, the Ravenclaws hosting intellectual debates over chicken-skewer platters while Hufflepuffs gossiped and made wagers on school couples. Hermione heard her own name more than once from the latter group, which was disconcerting.

She did not feel compelled to leave Tom's side either, but was forced to when Slughorn called over all the boys for 'a manly chat.' She rolled her eyes – how sexist was that? – and Tom laughed at her look, kissing her wrinkled nose and leaving with Regulus and Abraxas. She found Elphy, Rosy, and Fabia lounging on a large pink sofa in the corner of the classroom soon after. Luckily, her friends always proved to be a good distraction, even if they were a bit shallow and obnoxious.

"Hermione! We were wondering where you went off to," Elphy exclaimed at her arrival, prying her nimble form to the edge of the couch so she could grasp Hermione's hand and haul her into a seat. Alecto Carrow and Elizabeth Fletcher lingered nearby, holding half-empty glasses of pumpkin juice and pretending to follow a battle of wits between two Ravenclaw prefects when they were really eavesdropping. Meredith sat alone on a squishy pouffe, watching dust specks float through the air.

"So Hermione," Fabia began, smiling at her in such a way Hermione instantly became suspicious. "Why don't you tell us all about you and Tom, hm?"

"Me and…?" Hermione whipped around to face Elphy, narrowing her eyes accusingly. "I thought you weren't going to tell."

Elphy shrugged. "I didn't. Everyone has been talking about you two all week and Rosy is the one who blabbed anyway; says she saw you two together in Defense."

"Rosy!"

"Wait one minute," Fabia interjected, looking aghast. "Are you saying you told Elphaba about you and Tom Riddle but didn't tell us?"

Rosy turned on Elphy. "How long have _you_ known, hm?"

"Oh, it's been a while," Elphy said loftily, looking up from her nails and shooting Hermione a sparkly wink. "You two are only just catching on."

"Well, since 'everyone' knows you two are together, Hermione, I suppose you can just tell us absolutely everything now, correct?" Rosy said rather menacingly. "So spill already."

"There's – um – nothing to tell, really," she said uncomfortably. She glanced at Tom, who was across the room and sitting beside Slughorn with all of the other male members. The girls - including Elizabeth Fletcher and Alecto Carrow – followed her gaze.

"Oh don't be so chaste, I know you've got something good for us," Fabia grilled. "We all know Meredith didn't actually get anywhere with Tom. She always whined he hardly ever touched her. But have you two, ahem…?"

"Been frivolous?" Elphy supplied with a sly smile.

"How big is he?"

"Is he good or lousy? I bet he's even better than Abraxas-"

"Oh, forget that impropriety, Hermione. When is he going to _propose_?" Rosy threw in excitedly, naturally the romantic of the group.

Hermione's eyes widened at that last inquiry. "He's very private actually…" she hedged.

"But Hermione, we're your friends! Pleeeeaaassseee!"

"Oh shut up, Fab," Elphy snapped. "You sound like an Azkaban siren."

"Nobody asked you, idiot."

"Well, as your frieeennnd I felt inclined to let you know how unbecoming it is to squeal like a drowning sewer rat-"

"Rat? What do you mean by referring me to a _rat?" _snapped Fabia, who was well aware of the unbecoming nickname she was christened with by a few choice Gryffindors. The smallness of her eyes and nose combined with her slightly large two front teeth, however, really did give her the impression of a rat.

Hence the name: _Ratface._

Suddenly, the small golden clock on Slughorn's desk chimed eight o'clock, saving Hermione from having to intervene with its strike. She got to her feet all too willingly. "Good gracious, is it that time already?" said Slughorn, looking up in surprise. "Well, you all better get going before Gregovitch starts his patrol early again."

There were some reluctant groans and then students started to file out into the sleeping castle, their chatter slowly quieting as they left. Hermione started to head toward Tom, but he shook his head and waved her on from his place beside Slughorn. She stared at him in surprise for a moment, starting when his voice resonated through her head in such a way only magical connection could enable...

_Wait for me outside the Head common room. _

The Head common room? What for? Surely, he knew that she couldn't get away with sleeping in his dormitory again. She didn't understand, but she eventually joined the crowd shuffling out of the classroom after some hesitance. There was a bad feeling stirring in the pit of her stomach though, and it worsened when it occurred to her that it would be even longer until Tom could appease her magic again. She groaned, earning a weird look from a Gryffindor beside her.

Oh, this night was utterly _endless. _And what was Tom up to in the Potions room anyway?

She retreated into the shadows, watching silently as everyone exited the classroom, Regulus Black and Abraxas Malfoy being the last of the party. They scoped the hall. She inched closer when they started to speak.

"All clear," Abraxas said, peeling a hand through his white-blonde locks and glancing up and down the corridor once more. "Did you see where Granger went?"

"She was one of the first to leave," Regulus reported.

"So you were checking her out again?"

"I don't check her out! I like Rosy." He added, grumbling, "Besides, you know the way he looks at her. He'd kill me."

"Well, it'd be stupid of you to fancy her anyway, considering what happened last time."

Regulus visibly shuddered. "You don't think he's going to…to do anything to her, do you?"

"I know what _I _would do to her." Abraxas grinned and Hermione cringed behind the knight obscuring her. Um, _ew_.

"You're a pig. Seriously." Regulus's scowl faded. "Really though. What if he hurts her?"

"What of it?" Abraxas glared at him, eyes narrowed. "Do you question our Lord?"

"Of course not."

"Then stop asking so many questions, Black. No good will come of it." After a minute of tense silence he said, thoughtfully, "I do wonder what he needs to talk to Sluggy for though."

"Don't know. Don't want to know either, not after what happened to Chanté…"

Their voices drifted away and Hermione bit her lip, thinking hard. She had completely forgotten about the Death Eater meetings. Of course Tom would still be holding them, but she had been too busy with the task, with the essences and magical bond, with juggling her new friends and this strange time period to realize it.

What had happened at Hogwarts during 1943? She wracked her brain for the answer. Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, although this time around Hermione had made sure Grindelwald died for good to keep Voldemort from ever learning the whereabouts of the Elder Wand in the future. Then Tom would research Horcruxes, which was why she burned all books on or related to immortality and resurrection – just to stall him while he was confined to Hogwarts resources, naturally...

_Of course. _It suddenly hit Hermione what he must be doing. How could she forget? He had to be asking Slughorn about the Horcruxes. Slughorn would tell him creating one would require splitting one's soul, an object for the soul to be encased in, but that he didn't know any more about it - or at least that was what Harry told her and Ron after his lesson with Dumbledore.

Hermione walked up to the closed door and put her ear on the wood, wishing she had a pair of Fred and George's Extendable Ears. She couldn't hear anything except some gibberish about crystallized pineapple, and then the voices went very quiet. She pulled back and cast a Disillusionment Charm, not willing to try her luck. Tom would sense her magic if she stayed long enough.

She went to the Head's common room, careful to Silence her footsteps as she crept through the halls and to skirt around Gregovitch's nine o' clock routes. When she at last arrived at the portrait of a Romantic landscape filled with deep, rich colors and wild brushstrokes a sigh emitted from the frame, a wispy caress of wind, _"Password?"_

Hermione gathered her magic – or what was left of it without Tom around – and closed her eyes, thinking _Open. _She cautiously looked up a minute later.

The Head's common room lay unlocked before her.

* * *

It didn't take long for him to show.

The sound of the opening entrance was followed by the Head Boy gliding through, raking a hand through his dark hair, lips quirked tempestuously. His eyes swept around the handsome room, backtracking when they found Hermione perusing a bookshelf. "I thought I told you to wait outside," he said, the displeasure tilting his mouth spreading to his clipped tone next. "How did you get in here anyway?"

Hermione fluttered the fingers of her left hand at him, letting a flurry of magic he sensed rather than saw race across the tips. "Take a guess," she replied cheekily.

He considered her for a moment. "Come on, we'll go to my room," he eventually said. "Augusta's patrol ended ten minutes ago and she'll be here soon."

Hermione slid a guide on the caretaking of hippogriffs back into place and followed him to the Head Boy chambers. She stepped into the immaculate dorm, taking a seat on the bed and watching as Tom discarded his robes and tie. Her throat dried when his shirt followed suit and she looked away, reminding herself she had questions to ask him.

Many questions.

"Tom, what's happening to me?" she blurted out.

The sound of rustling clothes behind her halted for a moment before resuming, although more slowly before. "What do you mean?"

Her cheeks warmed. "Well, I can hardly stay away from you…and when I do it exhausts me. I know that has to do with the magical bond, but it's become worse and you're not nearly as affected as I am. Why is that? Is it the essences?"

"Yes… it's the essences." He paused. "They may have heightened your senses and reactions to certain things, actually."

"Things like what?"

"It could be trivial, such as an allergy or a sound that irritates you, like nails on a chalkboard for instance – or your bodily needs can intensify."

"You mean cravings?"

"Yes."

She bit her lip. "What else do they do?" she said, thinking of the horrible struggle her body had undergone as it adjusted to the essences now ingrained in her. Of the hallucinations.

Of that regurgitated blue quill.

"They sometimes enable wizards to do things they were unable to do before." His feet padded over the floor, prowling closer, but she didn't turn lest his looks distract her. She already knew he was well aware of the effect his body had on her - and Tom enjoyed abusing that particular power.

"Fantastic things," he said lowly. "Terrible things."

Her heart caught in her throat when she felt his body hover over her turned back like the ominous, sexual presence of an incubus – or a jaguar poised to pounce. "And why do we need to leave the castle for Christmas break?" she said, voicing the question that had been grating at her for the past week now.

"So I can give you your present, among other things." He laughed at a private joke and trailed his fingers through her spelled ringlets, separating them into finer curls. "It will be just the two of us."

"Other things?" she repeated sharply.

"Yes." He kissed her neck, reeling her in toward him like a fish on a hook. Her eyelids fluttered against their will. The magical bond turned in Tom's favor, clouding her thoughts in a lust-hazed sweep. "You'll see, Hermione," he murmured. "All the fantastic, terrible things…"

* * *

Hermione awoke in a cold sweat. Faces she'd never seen before, menacing jets of green light and runes had filled her dreams. There had been a man with greasy, dirt-blackened hair infested with lice and reaching his waist. She remembered the beautiful lady in a long, old-fashioned gown, and a dead black woman wearing a bone necklace.

Beyond that, there was nothing.

She shook it off. What were dreams but figments of imagination? And nightmares – nightmares were just paranoia hyped up and visualized. Hermione didn't entertain such things for longer than necessary. They were illogical and nonsensical, and she hated uncertain things. It was one of the main reasons she dropped Divinations her fourth year.

Everyone was still asleep in the common room, so Hermione toed quietly over to Elphy's bed. Her hair was a matted mess of Venetian blonde locks against green-and-silver comforters, reminding her of Sleeping Beauty for an instant.

_Time to wake up the princess, _she thought with some humor.

"Get up, Elphy!" she whispered, whipping the blankets off the sleeping Slytheriness when she simply groaned and flopped over. Hermione tapped her foot impatiently and waved her wand over her friend's sleeping form. "_Ennervate." _

As if someone had banged cymbals next to her ears, Elphy sprang up, eyes so wide and alert she could've had espresso racing through her veins.

"I'M INNOCENT, UNICORN! TOUCH ME ALREADY!" she screeched.

Hermione stared at her. Maybe she had overdone that spell a bit?

Elphy blinked, coming to her senses, and looked at Hermione blearily. "Wh-what time is it?"

"Er, six forty-five."

"What? Why didn't you wake me up ten minutes ago like I told you to?"

"Because I couldn't get you to wake up, you sleep like the dead," Hermione quipped, opening Elphy's trunk and tossing a toiletry bag at her. "Don't worry, no one's up yet so there's still plenty of hot water."

"There better be, I hate cold showers." Elphy scratched her eyes and got to her feet, yawning. She stepped into her fluffy pink, cashmere slippers. "Lead the way, princess."

By the time the girls were ready the rest of the Slytherins had only just woken up and now raced each other to the loo. Fabia got up a half-hour late, and Hermione and Elphy laughed themselves silly when she stumbled into the showers, yelling at the top of her lungs when ice-cold water hit her naked skin like piercing needles. Her ear-splitting scream echoed all the way to the common room downstairs.

"Don't you look refreshed?" Hermione teased when a shivering, stringy-haired Fabia emerged from the bathroom in a silk bathrobe. Unsuppressed giggles burst out of her when the Slytheriness, looking more rat-like than ever, leered at her.

"I'm freezing actually," Fabia growled. "Why didn't anyone wake me up?"

"We wanted to see you suffer," Elphy deadpanned and Fabia rolled her eyes, disappearing behind a dressing screen to get ready. "Hermione and I are off to the Great Hall," she added, smoothing her already-perfect skirt. "We'll meet you and Rosy there."

Through the divider Fabia's silhouette teetered as she struggled to get her stockings on faster. "Blast!" she cursed when one leg ripped. "Ugh, can't you two wait a few wretched seconds?"

"One, two," Elphy counted off on her manicured nails, grinning when Fabia cursed again - this time at them. "_Do zobaczenia!"_

"See you later, Fab," Hermione called.

They descended the stairs to the common room and she waved at Regulus upon seeing him wrapping up a game of Wizarding Chess against Abraxas by the fire. He grinned back and Abraxas – who was crabby in the mornings – looked up, ice-blue eyes glaring through his blonde bangs. "Stop smiling like that," he sniffed. "You look like Sluggy on dope – or some sort of a child molester."

Regulus scowled, retorting, "At least my nickname isn't _Man Whore_."

"You wish you had such an awesome title."

The girls made a detour to the loo when Elphy's right eye teared up with eyeliner crumbs. She rushed in, hurrying to the sinks, and Hermione idled in the bathroom while Elphy fumbled through her clutch for a cotton ball.

At the very end of the long row of stalls, Hermione heard a low sniveling and paused. She glanced over her shoulder at Elphy, rapt on the mirror and reapplying makeup. Quietly, she crept up to the sniffling stall and peeked through the slat to see who was here crying at eight o' clock in the morning. She was stunned to find a glimpse of Meredith Smith's bent head, a crumpled letter in the girl's hand and sobs wracking her chest. What was she doing here?

"Hermione, are you coming or what?" Elphy shouted.

At this, Meredith's head snapped up and her shocked, reddened eyes met Hermione's a split-second before she could duck. She scrambled back, flushing.

"Hermione!" Elphy said again, impatiently.

"I'm coming," she called back. They left the lavatory moments later.

But as the girl's bathroom shrunk behind them, Hermione glanced back at the shut double doors more than once. She couldn't get the image of Meredith's tear-streaked face out of her brain.

Of her _not _blank, miserable, miserable eyes.

When the girls finally reached the Great Hall it was to find the cafeteria overflowing and in full swing. They were greeted warmly at the Slytherin table, but Hermione hardly noticed anyone at all as she took her seat. How could she when she knew Meredith Smith was crying in the loo the day before Christmas Eve? Meredith, who she'd unintentionally turned into a social pariah. Meredith, who was ridiculed and shunned by the friends who turned on her. Meredith… Hermione's huge, glaring mistake.

_Stop being so bothersome and cruel, _Hermione had told her the night of Slughorn's soiree. Oh, it was glaringly obvious now! But she hadn't meant for Meredith to be so to everyone; she only wanted the girl to get off _her_ back, not to turn her into a seventeen-year old zombie incapable of emotion.

Dumbledore warned her not to abuse the magick he'd taught her to wield, to never alter someone's personality, but Hermione disregarded this and now she had to pay for her insolence, to somehow find a way to fix what she had done. But could she magick everything better? What if she just made things worse?

_Calm down. _

Hermione looked up to find Tom staring at her, one dark brow piqued inquiringly. His hand, resting on her thigh, sent a hiss of bubbly magic darting through her. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly. "Do you feel sick again?"

"No, I'm fine." _Although I can't say the same for Meredith._She shook herself. "I was just…thinking."

He smirked. "I could tell."

She stared at him, not understanding, and he tapped the side of his nose. "The crinkle," he elaborated.

Hermione blinked and a snort suddenly flew out of her, sharp and full of disbelief. He'd _nicknamed_ one of her facial expressions. It was so…so…

Sweet.

Across the table, Regulus had cleared his plate and now nodded at Abraxas meaningfully, who in turn signaled for the others to quiet down. Dolohov lowered his edition of the Daily Prophet at the gesture, and even Elphy, Rosy, and Fabia hushed their prattle. Hermione looked up at the sudden lapse in conversation, frowning when she found everyone staring back at her.

"Er…yes?"

"We were just wondering, Hermione," Regulus said, casually. "What's the plan of action?"

"The plan of what?"

"You know, for our secret escape," he clarified. At this, Fabia and Rosy fell into excited chitters, giggling, and it finally dawned on Hermione what the Slytherins were talking about. _The Christmas shopping trip._ She'd completely forgotten!

"That's today?" she said, shocked.

"Of course it's today," Dolohov rumbled in his deep baritone. "The Hogwarts Express is taking everyone home tomorrow, we can't exactly go then, now can we?"

"Well… when do you all want to go?"

"After breakfast, I think," said Rosy. "That way we can stay there until evening."

"Ooh and get all the good sales," Fabia squealed.

Abraxas checked his solid gold watch, shining impressively on his wrist. "If everything isn't already sold out, that is."

Hermione thought for a moment. "Alright, we'll meet in thirty minutes on the third floor in front of the one-eyed witch statue," she said. "There's a passageway there that will take us into the cellar of Honeydukes."

Abraxas clapped her on the back firmly. "Good thinking, love." But, seeing Tom's withering glare, the boy withdrew with speed. Regulus sniggered.

"Ambition, cunning, leadership, and resourcefulness," Elphy sang under her breath. "_Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness."_

The others laughed and lapsed back into plotting and playful jabs, shooting Hermione smiles between words and watching approvingly whenever Tom leaned down to say something in her ear or gave her a little kiss. And Hermione felt happy. And she felt pressured. And she felt that she was one of them.

And she felt one wrong move could send her crashing down from cloud nine – just like poor Meredith Smith.

* * *

"Abraxas, get that thing the hell away from me!" Elphy snarled, wand out and ready as he stalked down the candy aisle, a Cockroach Cluster in hand. "You know how I get with insects-"

"Ah, yes." An evil smile made its way onto Abraxas Malfoy's face. "I recall you puking cake all over my shoes when you found a spider on your arm at my birthday party."

"I was nine!"

"And now I am exacting my revenge eight years later." He hurled the disgusting mushed ball of cockroaches at her and Elphy screamed bloody murder, gagging when it bounced off the shelf next to her head and knocked a case of Fizzing Whizzbees to the floor. She fled, screeching, and Abraxas ran after her, wielding a Licorice Wand. "You can't run forever!" he bellowed.

"Why can't I get him to pay attention to _me _like that?" Fabia pouted beside Hermione, who had somehow gotten stuck with the girl and now examined candy with her.

She shrugged. "Because bugs don't make you regurgitate?"

"Now is not the time to make jokes, Hermione! I haven't seen a single mistletoe here and the train leaves tomorrow. How am I supposed to be conveniently trapped into kissing Abraxas?" she lamented. Hermione didn't have any advice to offer however – relationships were the one subject she unfortunately lacked knowledge on – but luckily, Fabia caught sight of Rosy looking at a display of Pepper Imps with Regulus just then.

"Rosy, dearest," Fabia cried, "I have a crisis!"

Hermione snuck into the cocoa aisle while she was distracted. There, she found and acquainted herself with a sample of Chocoballs.

_Mm. _Fudgy.

A few minutes later, Tom strode in, absently chewing a Sugar Quill as he glanced over the contents of the colorful shelves. He didn't have any wizard money, but he wasn't above shoplifting some candy either. He'd done it plenty of times in East London when he was younger.

Hermione looked up, sensing Tom's presence like a scent riding the air, and her eyes widened at the sight of purple sugar crystals smeared across his chin. A huge smile broke free and her lips trembled with the effort of holding back laughter when he coolly said, "What are you grinning like that for?"

"You – ah – have something right here," she said, pointing at her own chin.

He frowned and swiped his jaw, completely off mark. "Where?" he demanded.

Hermione couldn't hold back laughter any longer. Snorting, she burst out, "It's all over your face!"

His lips twitched and he stepped closer to her, making her snickers abruptly cease when their magic sparked and combined. An electric charge danced up her spine, wanting to close the distance between them.

"Well, since I can't seem to get it, why don't you take care of it for me?" Tom said, leaning close. She blushed and his eyes flicked over the pink pooled in her cheeks, spiky lashes flying like raven wings. "It's the least you can do for laughing at me anyhow."

Her fingers flexed inside her mittens and she lightly brushed the sugar off his skin, bleached by winter and now even creamier than the snow outside. "All gone," she said, a little breathily.

Their eyes met.

Suddenly, a rain of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans opened on their heads and they broke apart to find Abraxas waggling the empty box over them. "Did I ruin the moment, lovebirds?" he sniggered, but his cheesy grin disappeared when Tom drew his wand. He threw up his hands, eyes wide and apologetic. "Sorry, sorry, it was just a joke!"

"What do you want, idiot?" Tom snapped.

"Uh, Wictz is looking for Hermione, says she wants to go to Gladrags or something."

"Oh shoot, I forgot," Hermione exclaimed, shoving on her hat. "Did they already leave?"

"Everyone's at the door now-"

She grumbled a curse and hurried to the exit. As the boys followed, Tom sent Abraxas a warning glare that seemed to say _dump candy on my head again and it will be the last thing you ever do using all ten of your fingers. _

The latter boy gulped.

The Slytherins entered Gladrags Wizardwear in a hurry, eager to get out of the nipping cold and shaking snow out of their hair as they streamed inside. Dolohov didn't come, instead going to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop with Regulus to buy some new parchment and inkwells, while Abraxas made a beeline to the jewelry, muttering something about getting a sufficient gift for his mother.

Tom, on the other hand, was bombarded by a team of female employees not ten seconds after walking in, who helpfully wielded their enchanted tape measures and hurried him to the men's section, fawning over his handsomeness and asking, _now why isn't a pretty face like yours on our perfume ads?_ and _Are you here to model December's most fashionable winter wear?_

Hermione bristled when a particularly eager saleswoman fastened a tie around Tom's neck, offering to give him a free trouser fitting and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously with every syllable that passed her lips. _His pants fit just fine now, thank you very much, you old bat, _Hermione thought hotly, wanting to pluck every last one of the dolt's spasmodic lashes off with her bare hands.

Tom politely declined her offer with a charming smile, however, and the lady laughed, stepping closer and resting a warm hand on his shoulder. He didn't shake her off.

Hermione was unable to intervene though, because Rosy and Fabia decided to grab her by the wrists at that moment. _Let me go, you stupid idiots! _she cried unkindly, but they dragged her away to the cosmetics counter, condoning the death threats and forcing her to watch as they tested unreasonably priced powders and had them packaged in pretty wrapping. Elphy perched on a stool and chatted with the attendant Flynn, who she seemed to know very well, and even got them one or two discounts.

"Hermione, why don't you buy something for Tom?" Elphy suggested, smiling at her. "You should exchange gifts with someone on Christmas."

"Hm?" Hermione was distracted from the array of eyeshadows she'd been curiously poking around in. She looked up, frowning. "Oh, I would but I…I don't have any money."

"I know." Elphy popped open her designer purse, leafing through it and extracting a heavy pouch of Galleons which she dropped unceremoniously into Hermione's lap. "There you are. Have fun, princess." And before Hermione could protest – she couldn't _possibly _spend her money – Elphy was flouncing away with Flynn, merrily discussing a new shipment of lingerie coming in.

She cursed.

Grudgingly, she turned to the men's side of the store and started to wander through there, looking at ties and dress shirts and the like. She had no idea what to get Tom. What could he possibly want? It wasn't like she could wrap up some immortality, stick a bow on it, and give it to him.

_Hello, future Wizarding World! Bow down to your dictator Voldemort and have a Happy Dooms Day, brought to you exclusively by Hermione Granger._

Yeah right.

So eternity was out. What about a book though? But what book? What genre did he like best? Non-fiction or fiction? Oh, forget that, there were too many choices when it came to reading. She swore again. She didn't have an inkling of an idea as to what he might want. Perhaps she'd just slip Elphy her money back when she wasn't looking…

And that was when she saw it.

The dress.

Well, _dress_ wasn't the correct word. What she was looking at was deep in the women's section and too risqué to be called anything other than a provocative strip of cloth, really. It was also something she could never pull off.

The skimpy baby doll, unabashedly slutty and a red so deep it looked like blood, had a black lace bodice and fringe. It didn't look like it would go any farther than the top of your thighs and – oh Merlin – it even had a pair of matching knickers and garter belt. She blushed at the thought of wearing it and then blushed deeper when she imagined what Tom might say if he _saw_ her wearing it.

_Not in a thousand years, _her subconscious lectured snottily.

Her subconscious had a point.

Ten minutes later, they were all leaving, although that one flirty employee was disinclined to let her new favorite customer go. Elphy elbowed Hermione particularly hard on their way out the door, giving her a look that seemed to say _better go get your beau before the old bat steals him_.

She was probably right.

Hermione turned back to the store, eyes landing on Tom and the preening saleswoman almost instantly. Her pride took a hit at the sight of the woman's hands on him. _What – the – hell? _

She took a deep breath and walked up to them, pulling back her shoulders and slanting her eyes in her best impersonation of Elphy (which she'd been getting much better at, actually) and the clingy saleswoman jumped back at the sight of her, looking vaguely embarrassed.

"Tom, darling, what's taking so long?" Hermione twittered, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. He blinked at the unusually sultry tone of her voice – why did she sound so much like Elphy Wictz? – and gave a start when she slowly slid her mouth along his shaven jaw until they hooked on his in a soft lip lock, drawing out his tongue and tangling with it for a long minute. Her nails scratched through his hair.

The sound of the saleswitch's tape measure clattering to the floor made them break apart.

"Ready to go?" Hermione said, a little breathily. The embarrassing kind of breathy.

_Merlin_.

Tom was grinning.

The saleswitch hadn't stopped staring when Hermione glanced at her through the storefront, her lip stained mouth hanging open in blatant shock. Hermione waved back.

"Feeling a little possessive, are we?" Tom observed, still laughing.

"I was saving you. She was going to drool on your shirt any moment," she replied tartly.

"I think I like you jealous," he murmured, snaking an arm around her waist and sneaking his fingers under her coat. "It's very sexy."

"Hermione, hurry up," Elphy shouted, coming toward them through the whirling blizzard. Webbing white flurries lashed through the air like whips and concealed her strawberry blonde hair in a thin, frosty layer. Behind her, Abraxas struggled to keep up, all twelve of the Slytheriness's shopping bags in his arms.

The excited witch looped her arm through Hermione's when she was close enough, tugging her away from Tom and in the direction of the Three Broomsticks. Hermione groaned. The reason she _came_ to Hogsmeade was to get Tom in the holiday spirit and distract him from whatever he might be planning for Christmas break, to humanize him. She couldn't do that if they kept getting pulled away from each other…

"So did you get him something?" Elphy said, readjusting her ear muffs and shooting Tom Riddle a fervent glance behind them.

"No, I couldn't find anything." Hermione gave Elphy her pouch of Galleons back, although the witch protested and said it hardly made a difference in her bank account. "Thanks though."

Elphy tutted. "Lucky for you, my frugal princess, I figured this might happen. So I took care of it."

"Frugal-?" Hermione sputtered. "Wait, wait, took care of it how?"

"You'll see come Christmas, won't you?" Elphy laughed at the displeased expression on her face, bumping their hips playfully. "Don't worry. The suspense won't kill you."

"I don't know about that," she muttered.

They found Fabia, Rosy, Dolohov, and Regulus waiting in a booth in the Three Broomsticks, which was crowded with wizards and witches in heavy cloaks staying at the inn. It was a tight squeeze, but somehow all of the Slytherins fit at the table, drinking Butterbeer as the snowflakes melted on their heads. Hermione sat sandwiched between Abraxas and Elphy, forced to endure them bicker right over her head. Literally.

"You couldn't do one lap around the Quidditch Pitch without checking your nails, much less play a game," Abraxas sneered in her right ear.

"You're exaggerating," Elphy scoffed into Hermione's left. "I could play better than you with my eyes closed."

"Maybe if we were competing for the Best Pedicure Cup."

"It's called a _manicure." _Elphy stuck her hand out, nearly knocking over Hermione's Butterbeer, and fluttered her French-tipped fingers in front of his face. "Pedicures are for your feet, idiot."

"Well, _excuse_ _me_ for not knowing the correct terminology-"

"I need to go to the loo," Hermione announced loudly.

"Oh, sure, Hermione," Elphy said, smiling. "Do you want me, Rosy, or Fab to come with you? Or all three of us?"

"Er…I think I'll be alright alone."

Abraxas sniggered, muttering "girls" to Dolohov, who rolled his eyes. Elphy ignored them. "Of course," she said smoothly, sliding past Regulus out of the booth. Hermione wriggled free and was surprised to see Tom get up too, brushing snow-dampened hair off his forehead. He met her eyes and nodded discreetly at the door.

The others didn't notice them leave, the sound of clinking mugs snipped off by the shutting door. A bell hanging overhead cheeped at their exit.

"Finally, I thought my head was going to explode from all that bickering," Hermione huffed, relieved to get away from the rowdy Slytherins for a moment.

"If I might remind you," Tom said, "_you're_ the one who enacted this rendezvous."

"My judgment lacks at eight AM, I'm not a morning person."

He rolled his eyes.

They strolled down the street, which was empty save for a man scurrying out of Zonko's Joke Shop to take out the trash and the chilly wind whipping their cloaks. Hermione hummed the chorus of _Pierrot the Clown. _

"Are we going anywhere in particular?" she asked when the village started to fade behind them.

Tom lifted his shoulders in a shrug. His hair was windswept, strands gone haywire and dark as his raven-black eyes against the canvas of snow and ivory sky surrounding them. "What about the Black Lake?" he suggested.

"Won't someone see us out there?"

"No one in the castle will be able to see out of the Astronomy Tower through this blizzard."

"And the others?" Hermione said, glancing back worriedly. "They'll look for us."

"They'll be fine." He kicked at a block of snow, melting a path ahead of them with his wand. Flattened, brown grass crunched underneath their feet. "We could go ice skating. I used to ice skate when I was younger."

"Really?"

He nodded. "There was a large ditch in the backyard of the orphanage and it would fill with rainwater that froze over during winter. I remember wishing the snow covering it away one day and stealing some bloke's ice skates, which were far too big but worked well enough. I stayed out there all day for weeks." His brow furrowed. "When the wardens eventually found out they said the hole was a hazard and filled it with concrete."

Hermione stared at him, stunned by this small piece of information. It was seemingly trivial, but to her it was so much more than a story. _It's working, _she thought, a thrill of hope going through her cold-numbed body. He was finally sharing himself with her. Slowly, sure, but this counted as something, didn't it?

And what if she really could do this? Save the future without destroying any more lives in the past?

Save _him._

It sounded terribly unrealistic.

But still…

"Ice skating sounds wonderful," she finally said warmly, taking his hand and squeezing it. "We can Transfigure our boots into skates."

Tom didn't reply, but a pleased smile tilted his lips.

They spent a good hour breezing over the frozen lake, steel blades engraving patterns without rhyme or reason into the hard ice. Hermione spun circles, closing her eyes against the iridescent winter wonderland all around, and let her magic ride on the carrying wind, which sailed across the snowy fields and slopes. The sound of slicing ice stopped feet away and then a pair of hands were clasping hers, bringing her to a screechy stop.

She looked up at Tom, grinning and dizzy. Snowflakes tangled in his long lashes, gathering on the dark fringe. "I thought you might trip," he said, gliding closer. "You're not supposed to skate with your eyes closed, you know."

"And _you're_ not supposed to steal innocent people's ice skates."

Their blades touched when he put his arms around her waist. "I like this," he murmured, lips warm and smooth as velvet on her cheek. "Keeping you to myself."

"How selfish of you, darling," Hermione whispered.

"I'm entitled to selfishness." Quieter, he said, "I can hardly wait to leave this place for good. Then everything will be better – I won't even have to share you with anyone ever again."

"You can't do that," she laughed. "I have a life too, you know."

"With me." He kissed her gently. "When I fix everything I'll hide you away." Another kiss. "Keep you happy." Kiss. "Give you gifts when I come home from work."

"That sounds horribly 18th century. What do you mean by 'fix everything'?"

_The Mudbloods. The Ministry. Those who need to learn their place. _"Don't worry about it. It's not of concern," he replied. True, it did not concern Hermione… not yet.

"But why would you want to…hide me? Are you embarrassed-" Her eyes sharpened. "-because I'm a Muggleborn?"

He scowled. "Of course not. I must because your magic has changed. The essences will let it grow stronger, more desirable, and ultimately harder to hide. There are people out there who will try to steal your magic," he said. "To take it and use it for themselves."

Hermione had never heard of someone trying to hijack a wizard's magic. "Why?" she said, bewildered.

"Because they are greedy, low, and ruthless," he whispered, "That is why you have to stay with me. Safe."

'_You're worth a pretty Galleon, I'm sure, and will have a nice little cage in the Department of Mysteries,' _Professor Chanté had told Hermione the night he found her and Tom in the Forbidden Forest. Was this what Tom meant? Would wizards hate and use her for her magic?

'_What you did to me last night is not something a normal witch or wizard is capable of…'_

Tom's lips pressed against hers, sweet as a song, his tongue entangling hers in a heated, lovely dance. He held her tightly against him. Controlled. Unyielding. Hard as the solid ice beneath them. "You do want to stay with me forever, don't you?" he asked.

Her eyes slid shut. "Yes. I...I want to stay." And she did. The time she came from could take as long as it wanted to arrive as far as she was concerned, because suddenly the idea of going back to it, of returning to her family and friends, just wasn't so appealing anymore.

"With me."

"With you."

He smiled. Their magic wound together, a harmony, a finely-tuned clockwork, and Hermione let him take over the kiss when his mouth became feverous, demanding submission. He held her face tight in his hands, like he might never let go, like he meant to bruise her, to hurt her.

Lost. His darkness consumed.

* * *

**AN: OMG, I know there weren't **_**any**_** lemons! O.O I AM EVIL. But I'll make up for it in the next update, which is quite sexy (or at least the-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named says) and other chapters. ***omfg spoiler alert (not really): the Christmas break chapters will be way packed with smut in a way that makes me so happy M-rated stories are legal! UMPH.**

**In this last scene of the chapter with Tom and Hermione I was listening to the song** **Колыбельная****/Kolehbelnaya, which is so dang beautiful I **_**have **_**to tell you guys about it. I also wholeheartedly encourage you to Youtube it. That shit is gorgeous.**

**For the next chapter, Hermione and Tom finally leave Hogwarts to get a head start on our Dark Lord Jr.'s mysterious plans (which is great, because this fic has been **_**dying**_** for a change of scenery). **_**The Task**_** will also definitely be taking a turn for the darker side; now that Tom Riddle is taking the reins. **

**Thanks for reading, my pretties, and don't forget to review! Reviews make my day. XOXO**


	24. His Task

**AN: SO, I saw in the reviews (which were all lovely; thanks everyone, y'all are the best) that we've got some hard feelings brewing for Hermione. There's nothing wrong with that and the point her character is at now, it's completely understandable. I'm mad at her too. Her balls have totally gone _Disparatus! _on us. Except not really. **

**Don't worry, everyone, the tough Hermione we know and love is still in there. There is a plan. There is a plot. There is vengeance and lemons. **

**At the moment, she's OOC. Factors contributing to that are, naturally, Tom Riddle, as well as the magical bond. She's being manipulated by an excellent manipulator. The wool has been pulled over her eyes, etc. I could go on forever. *cheesy grin* _But _there is a character in the story who is onto this ploy! I'm not going to give anything away, so I'll end that there. If any of you can't stick around for Hermione's loopy period, it's ok. I will miss you dearly. **

**But if you want to buckle your seatbelts and stay, here's the chapter. :) **

* * *

The most revered of Slytherin girls were chatting in the common room when Fabia Lynch rushed in, packed trunks in hand and eyes wide with disbelief. "Girls, girls!" she cried. "You won't _believe_ what I've just heard."

Elphy sighed. "I knew this was coming," she said, putting down a studded nail file. "Abraxas got some ditty Hufflepuff pregnant, didn't he?"

"What? No!" Fabia's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did he?"

"Fab, focus," Hermione interjected. "What did you have to tell us?"

"Oh right!" The Slytheriness, once again, lit up like a pixie on too much aerial dust. She perched on a leather couch and glanced around the bustling common room twice before speaking in a low, confidential whisper. "_It has begun."_

The girls exchanged looks. It seemed Fabia had finally gone off the deep end.

Delicately, Elphy said, "Sweetie, what are you going on about? Are you…ah…experimenting again?"

She looked indignant. "Of course not! I'm talking about marriage, you dolt."

"You're joking," Rosy said, hands flying up to clutch her chest. "This early?"

"Who?" asked Elphy.

"I don't get it." Hermione frowned. "What's this got to do with marriage?"

The girls stared at her in disbelief for a solid sixty seconds. Luckily, Elphy came to her rescue just as she was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Hermione…at Hogwarts, in every class of seventh year girls there are the few who go on to get jobs and degrees – or something useless like that," she began, as if a professor lecturing her pupil on a very trying subject. Hermione raised a brow. "These girls are the ones whose hand has not been asked in marriage and must support themselves until they find husbands (quite sad, really). However, if you have a family who cares for you, a decent reputation, and play your cards right, then a marriage will be planned for you by your parents."

Hermione stared at Elphy, stunned. This…excitement…was over _arranged marriage? _

"We're excused from school to attend balls, parties, socials, and such functions where we meet potential suitors," Rosy added, a dreamy smile on her face. "It will be marvelous. I've been looking forward to this since first year."

"Usually, the first engagement of the school year means the rest are soon to follow," Elphy said matter-of-factly. "Without a doubt we'll all be receiving a multitude of invitations from our owls when we come back from vacation. If you're lucky, your fiancée allows you to finish the school year. There are the few girls who are pulled out however."

_Pulled out of school? _Hermione thought, horrified. _For a husband? _But what about N.E.W.T.s? And what of OWLS? Who the hell was running this senseless bedlam?

Fabia clapped her hands in delight. "And you'll never guess who the first engagement of the school year is between!"

"No, we won't," Elphy said, turning the full force of her bewitching – and sometimes arctic cold – gaze on the Slytheriness. Her smile was brittle. "So _spill _already."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Wictz." Fabia rolled her eyes and cast a Silencing Charm, the way Hermione had taught her, and leaned forward. In turn, the other Slytherins scooted to the edge of their seats. "The first engagement," she whispered dramatically, "is to _Meredith Smith."_

Elphy's jaw dropped.

"And who?"Rosy hissed. "Meredith and who?"

Fabia's smile was downright fiendish. "Herald Smith, her cousin."

"Second or third?"

"First."

Rosy screeched like a hyena, falling back on the sofa and clutching her stomach in mirth. "I can't believe this!" she screamed.

"I would've never guessed she'd be the first to go either," Fabia giggled, "but I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Smith were just desperate. Apparently, her grandmother Elmibah was furious she lost that locket and initially wanted to marry her off to some rich uncle just to make her suffer. But Mr. Smith wouldn't let her."

"I bet that locket didn't even belong to Slytherin. She probably got it from some local jeweler," jeered Rosy.

Hermione couldn't believe it. Meredith was _engaged_? Even worse, she was engaged to her cousin. Hermione knew, of course, that Purebloods were known for interbreeding, but this was just…_horrifying_.

And all of this was because of the locket. Because of her.

The guilt, bitterer than bile, was choking.

"Excuse me," she said, standing up. "I have to go get my trunk."

The girls waved her on and Hermione quickly went upstairs. Her trunk was already packed and filled with clothes, Christmas presents, and the beaded bag she always kept handy – just in case. Hermione walked to her bedside, which was made for once since they would be away for the week, and bent down to retrieve her trunk from underneath it. She paused, closing her eyes against the image of Meredith Smith in a bathroom stall crying over her own wedding invitation.

_Meredith's head snapped up and her shocked, reddened eyes met Hermione's a split-second before she could duck._

Hermione had run away, just as Tom did the night he left Meredith bleeding to death in that classroom. Their intentions were different, but did it matter? Someone had been harmed. He hurt Meredith Smith physically; Hermione destroyed her emotionally – and even if she hadn't magicked her into a person who was never mean or disobedient, Meredith had been replaced in the house of snakes by the new girl with fancy tricks and a clever tongue.

Helena Ravenclaw was right. She _had _changed.

She had become someone terrible.

Hermione made to go, but doubled back when she found Meredith herself blocking the way. There were dark circles under the girl's eyes, hollow as Death's, and she had a queer smile on her face. The runes on Hermione's wrists prickled at the sight.

"Meredith," she said, surprised. "Um…did you need something?"

Meredith shook her head. Her long black hair, beautiful and lustrous a month prior, was now dull and frizzy. "Can't bother anyone with needs," she murmured. "Can't bother. Can't be cruel. Can't breathe. Can't feel. Ha ha."

Goosebumps broke over Hermione's arms as Meredith worked herself into a hysterical fit, bell-like laughter fragmented by loud snorts and cackles. "Meredith," she said, trying to bring the girl back, but she only laughed harder.

Hermione stepped forward, steeling herself. _Make this right, _she thought, taking the girl's hand gently, and Meredith stiffened all over. Recognizing the touch. Struggling to remember where from and why it made her feel so afraid, but only seeing a puddle of potions as the floor of the Muggle Studies classroom spun toward her. Blood, skull splitting open like a frothy-white egg-

A shudder wracked Meredith's body and she fell to her knees, yanking Hermione down with her. Emotions struggled to break past magic and Meredith's hold on her unconsciously tightened, nails digging harshly into the back of her hands. "I'm so sorry," Hermione said softly. "Please, I want to fix this. Listen to me-"

"You reek of saltwater," breathed Meredith, for she had caught a lock of Hermione's hair and given it a deep sniff. "And Dark magic."

Hermione blinked. "Saltwater?"

"You drowned me," Meredith recalled, words barely coherent through her stiff lips. "You…or the ocean…or the magic… Maybe all three." Her eyes rolled to the right side of her head, only the whites visible, and she trembled harder. "The punch smelled so good, like candy ribbons and Chanel perfume. …Elphy loves that scent. I get it for her every Christmas, even though it's Muggle… We were going to run away together after school, to Paris, but that was before you showed up… Then everything ch-changed…" A sob burst out of her.

"Meredith, I take back what I said before." Hermione grasped Meredith's hands desperately. She summoned her magic, which was not at its strongest because Tom was so far away but contended to answer her call. She stared into Meredith's foggy gaze forcefully. "I don't want you to change. Be bothersome or mean or whatever you feel like being. Forget what happened on the night at Sluggy's soiree. It-it's a memory best lost and forgotten."

She waited, watching Meredith hopefully. A minute went by and she faltered. Did it work?

_A memory best lost and forgotten._

"Get off me, Granger."

Hermione started, surprised by the venom in the Slytheriness's words. "You're alright?" she asked.

"What? Of course I am." Meredith got to her feet, brushing off her robes and sneering down at her. "What are you smiling at, filth?"

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, but couldn't take the grin off her face. Meredith's eyes slanted suspiciously.

"If this is about my engagement, I do not need your _sympathies_, Granger. I am perfectly content," she sniffed, pulling on a heavy wolf fur cloak and fastening the pearled clasp. "Stay away from me," she added menacingly.

_She's definitely back to normal, _Hermione thought, relieved and a little disappointed Meredith Smith hadn't come back nicer. Then again, maybe some things just never changed…

Maybe some things were even better left unchanged.

* * *

Far away from the castle, hundreds of students boarded the Hogwarts Express, a shiny beacon sputtering steam and gleaming bright crimson and black in the thick fog. Albus Dumbledore, the Transfigurations Professor, watched over the children as they boarded, not missing it when Head Boy Tom Riddle stepped onto the train. His heart weighed down his breast at the sight.

Hermione Granger had vouched for Tom's innocence, yes, but this made him all the more suspicious the two teenagers were hiding something. Hiding something dangerous and unpredictable he'd have to stop before anyone else could be hurt.

He had to get to Hermione before Tom did. Before it was too late.

* * *

Hermione struggled through the aisles of the train, dragging her heavy luggage after her. Her travelling cloak was stiff with frost and she'd already said goodbye to her friends, who failed to persuade her to sit with them.

Admittedly, she was excited for vacation. Months ago, the very notion of being alone with the young Dark Lord for so long would have instilled her with terror, but now she only looked forward to solving more of his mystery, to completing the task _her _way and without Dumbledore's biased opinions or misconceptions messing things up, to finding out where Tom was taking them. He hadn't given her so much as a grain of information and the suspense had been driving her utterly crazy with curiosity all week.

Huffing, Hermione squeezed past some burly Quidditch players and the trolley woman, who offered her some cranberry muffins she politely declined. She slammed the door of the compartment back, catching her breath - that trunk was ridiculously heavy – and the dark-haired wizard inside looked up at her entrance.

"Took you long enough," Tom said, smirking when she glared at him. He waved his wand at her trunk and the suitcase floated up to join his on the shelves lining the small chamber.

"What's that?" she asked, nodding at the paper in his hands. She pulled off her cloak, mitts, and robes, shaking snow out of her hair.

"A map," he said evasively and slid said map into his pocket. "Sit down."

She rolled her eyes at the command, but did so on the comfortable bench across from him, kicking off her soaked boots and casting a Heating Charm on her feet. Warmth immediately spread from her ankles to her toes in a pleasant balm. She sighed.

"What are you doing?" Tom said across from her, arching a brow.

She blinked. "Um…sitting?"

"I see that," he said in a show of exaggerated patience, as if he thought her slow, "but what are you sitting all the way over _there_ for?" He patted his thigh, a smug smile surfacing when her eyes widened. "We're alone now," he said, velvety voice nearly a purr. "You don't have to stay so far away, darling."

"Oh. Right," she said and went up to him, biting her lip. "I…I forgot."

"It's alright," he murmured, "so long as you don't forget again." He took her hand lightly, unbuttoning the cuff at her wrist and pushing up the sleeve. The sound of students boarding the train was ongoing.

Hermione tensed, waiting for Tom to see the runes patterned on her skin and stop, but he only traced his long fingers over her veins, touch light and tickling – skirting the inky designs.

"You…you know?" she said, stunned.

"Of course." He glanced up at her, eyes dark like a crypt and tinged with amusement. "I've seen you naked more times than I can count, haven't I?"

She looked at him sourly. "Ditto."

He snickered and his lips followed the path his fingers had made, skimming over her skin like a breeze. He slipped his free hand around her waist, pulling her into his lap and dropping her arm. His mouth moved from there to her neck, tongue slipping out to lick a wet trail to the juncture of her jaw, where he sucked a swell of skin into his mouth. A throaty moan escaped Hermione and she pressed her thighs together as a burning heat flared up between them, making her wriggle.

He slowly unbuttoned her blouse, hands sweeping over her ribcage greedily once it hung open. "Lean back."

"Say please," she said breathlessly.

"Please." He was scowling as he said it, but she grinned and did, laying her head on his shoulder.

The train let out a piercing whistle as it started to move.

His hands cupped her breasts over her bra, pushing the mounds together and working them. Her eyes flickered shut and her teeth sank into her lip harder, hands clenching the fabric of his trousers as she struggled to keep quiet. His hips started to move against her bottom and she rocked back against him, breathing heavily.

"Make as much noise as you want, darling," he breathed, moving one hand down her stomach and underneath her skirt. "I cast Silencing Wards just so you could."

His finger slid over her sopping wet slit and a loud, guttural moan ripped out of Hermione. He laughed quietly, pinching her clit. "Do you like this?" he whispered. "Would you like me to finger fuck you on the Hogwarts Express?"

"Y-yes."

A finger slipped inside her and she cried out, arching in his lap.

"Yes _what_?" he sang.

Magic clogged her brain. "Yes, Tom," she gasped.

He smirked. "You catch on so fast." His lips slid over her throat, kissing softly. "Hold onto me," he commanded, then as an afterthought added "please" and Hermione reached her arms up behind her, wrapping them around his neck. His pitch-black eyes met lust-hazed ones.

Two more fingers plunged inside her, stretching her, and she bucked, chest thrown in the air, bottom slamming down against his member. His fingers pushed deeper inside her and Hermione grappled for something to hold onto, grabbing his hair and pulling it viciously as he moved his digits in and out of her at a cruel pace – just fast enough to make the sensations delicious, but dragging out the nerve-tingling approach to her release.

"Tom, please_…_"she moaned.

"You're dripping wet," he tutted, nearly pulling out his fingers completely before slamming all three back in. She gasped. "Naughty little witch," he laughed, enjoying her torment. "I can't take you anywhere, now can I?"

Hermione's breath hitched and she clenched around his digits, rotating around them. "P-Peeping Tom," she retorted between gasps.

"I think I'll take pity on you, because you're just so cute," he said, laying a wet kiss on her perspiring cheek. Relief burst through her at the notion of a break in this sexual madness. "However, you'll have to compensate me."

"Y-yes," she panted through wanton moans, forehead knotted in concentration. "Compensation – got it."

"But how?" he wondered, pausing, and even his fingers stopped their delicious ministrations while lodged so deep inside her, although she tried to move against them. Tom's arm pinned her in place. Frustrated, she groaned. "Tell me how you'll make this up to me, Hermione."

"Um…I'll…you know…"

"Actually, I don't know." He was laughing at her now. _And _he still wasn't moving. She was going to make him pay for this later. "Explain it to me."

She gritted her teeth. "I'll…I'll suck you off."

Bingo. "Hm, sounds tempting," he said, nuzzling her neck. There must have been a god, because his fingers started to pump in and out of her again. Hermione grinded into his hand shamelessly. "Give me details."

She swallowed. She tried to remember those late night eroticas Elphy and her other friends had made her listen to them read as a prank, barely recalling the naughtier passages through her orgasmic haze. "I'll…I'll take you in my hand and stroke you-"

"Stroke my cock," he corrected, voice a little rougher and fingers increasing in pace. "Use the correct terminology, darling."

"_Ung. _Right, I'll stroke your cock…" He closed his eyes. "…and then I'll lick the-" Gasp. "-th-the head and take your cock in my mouth…and suck you…" He added another finger, stretching her walls further, and she choked, crying out raggedly.

"And?" he prompted, licking her neck as a lazy cat laps up the last drop of cream.

"I'll swallow everything," she ground out, repeating his words from weeks ago, "and suck you hard."

"_Fuck_." His fingers abruptly shoved in as far as they could go, curling sharply, and Hermione climaxed, gasping silently and floating on cloud nine for a blissful moment. Tom extracted his fingers from her sex and grasped her by the hair, catching the last of her cry in a rough, hard kiss.

He pulled away too soon, putting her hand over the hardness showing through his trousers. "Now," he growled.

Hungry, lust-driven magic rattled the shelves as Hermione sank to her knees on the hardwood floor and unzipped his trousers. He gripped the bench, knuckles whitening when she pulled out his hard member. An oath flew from him when she took him in, the tip of his cock disappearing inside her mouth, quickly followed by more of him. He nearly went off the edge when she glanced up at him, brown eyes big and so sinless he wanted to devour, to _fuck_ _her_ right there.

"Faster."

She complied and he started thrusting into her mouth, her moans humming around his cock and bringing him closer to release. She stroked her hand up and down his shaft, the other massaging his balls. He grabbed her hair, closing his eyes, and then he was coming, Parseltongue unconsciously hissing out his lips.

She pulled back.

Tom dragged her up onto the bench beside him, laying back against the wall and lazily kissing her. "I can hardly wait to be inside you," he murmured, with a little smile. "You'll make a fine Christmas present, I think."

"I suppose this is your idea of being romantic?"

"Tomorrow, we'll make the last link in the magical bond," he said and paused to kiss her deeply, tongue sweeping back and forth across hers. She sighed. "It will make it permanent and irreversible. And then I'll give you your present."

As he bent down to flutter kisses down her cheek, Dumbledore's words suddenly resonated through Hermione's head unwelcome: '_A__n old friend of mine once tried to persuade me to bind our magic. This friend was…charming, to say the least, and very manipulative. This friend wanted me to bind our power, 'to make us stronger' so he put it – but he really only wanted all of it for himself.'_

He was wrong though.

Wasn't he?

"Go to sleep," Tom said quietly, rubbing her back. "I don't want you to be tired when we get off the train."

"Where are we going?" she said, hoping he might tell her now that they were almost there.

"The train station," he replied, and she scowled. "Enough questions," he added authoritatively, "I want you to sleep now, Hermione."

"Sleep? I'm not that tired." She walked her fingers down his chest teasingly, toward the-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named zone. He caught her wrist.

"_Hermione."_

"Oh alright, I was just kidding." When he continued to stare at her expectantly she sighed, put her head down and closed her eyes.

Before she knew it she was dreaming.

* * *

_Hermione found herself lying in an endless bed of flowers. Their petals were white as ocean foam, framing a deep yellow center that sprouted gold like a fountain; a champagne starburst that crumbled into dust when she picked it. _

_Suddenly, she was not sitting among the most delicate of flowers but staring into a crystal-blue river. She touched the pool and the turquoise water shimmered, an image bubbling to the surface under her fingertips. It was Tom Riddle, dark-haired and handsome with his aristocratic features that seemed to have been wrought from marble and carved by a diamond-edged knife. _

"_Tom?" she tried to say, but no sound came out of her mouth. "Tom?"_

_A hand rested on her shoulder and Hermione turned around, relief spreading through her fast at the sight of him standing before her. She took his extended hand and he pulled her to her feet, smiling at her. His gaze shone bright red, but she didn't care. Tom was here. He'd heard her call. _

"_Come into the water with me," he said. "It's warm."_

"_It's warm?"_

_He nodded and slipped his shirt off over his head, shucking it aside. Hermione blushed, unable to take her eyes off his lean chest. He winked at her and stepped into the river, which had seemed miles deep a moment ago but now ended at his waist, much shallower than she'd initially thought it. _

"_Hermione," he called. "Come now, darling."_

"_Now, darling," she agreed and waded in. _

_The water came to her neck but she swam toward him, and he snatched her up in his arms when she was close enough. His arms were constricting as a boa's chokehold, yet she still wanted to feel his lips on hers, feel him move and thrust inside her, filling her to the brim. _

_His eyes reminded her of blood._

_The water turned crimson with it and Hermione gasped, grabbing onto him when the thick liquid started to suck them down. It stained her dress, the gossamer gown she hadn't remembered putting on, beautiful as heartbreak and the creamy white of those flowers. _

_What was happening?_

_The runes glowed bright on her wrists and a bone necklace floated by on the bank, catching her eye and frightening her. Her heart beat fast. They were sinking, they were going to drown and die. _

_A man, his hair long and thick with mud, hollered at them from the shore, and the pretty woman in braids and a chiffon gown Hermione thought she recognized from somewhere merrily kicked her feet in the bloody river. The mangy black cat, wax-green eyes hungry, posed to pounce. _

"_Now, darling," Tom whispered. "Shut your eyes."_

_But it was too late and overhead the moon burst like a grape as the murky red closed over, swallowing them up in a tidal wave of ugly… _

Hermione's eyes flew wide open. A cheery compartment and the red leather benches of the Hogwarts Express greeted her, as well as Tom, who was retrieving their luggage from the shelves.

"Good, you're awake," he said, donning a winter cloak. "Get dressed quickly. The train will come into the station any minute now."

Hermione reached for her things, movements slow and groggy as what remained of her dream slithered away into the recesses of her conscience, lost to a bloody river. A shudder shivered through her.

"Cold?" Tom asked. He sat down and zipped her coat up the rest of the way. "I could cast a Heating Charm."

"No, I'm not cold." She yawned. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About two hours," he replied. "You were sleeping like the dead. Didn't even move when we hit a thunderstorm."

"Oh." The train squealed to a halt, the sound of wheels grinding gravel and digging up earth screeching around them for a few moments. She picked up her suitcase. "Are we going to a motel or something?" she said, as they maneuvered through the exciting bustle of students also pouring off the Hogwarts Express.

"No, we'll be staying at…finer quarters than some cheap room," he answered with more than a hint of smugness. She pursed her lips. Why wouldn't he just _tell_ her where they were going, for Merlin's sake? All she had gathered from his little hints at their agenda was that they were going to some swanky place, _not _staying in a Muggle inn, and were to complete the final binding. She needed to find out more. She needed to figure out what he was doing.

She needed to get her hands on that map.

"You've Disapparated before, I assume?" he said when they at last arrived outside, dark eyes briefly glancing up at the slate-grey sky.

"Yes." She followed his gaze. Ominous clouds heavy with rain brewed powerfully above them. "Are we leaving by-?"

A hook pulled her backward by her navel, cutting off the rest of her words and yanking them through a tube two sizes too small. Hermione's ears popped unpleasantly before they were spat back out onto pavement not minutes later with a resounding _CRACK! _She groaned, stomach churning. Side-along Disapparation was horrendous.

"Ready to pillage the village?" Tom chuckled beside her.

Village? Hermione looked around and found they were indeed in a small, quaint town. They were also the only civilians in sight, standing on a narrow bend lit by streetlamps and covered in a rug of muddy slush. Their breaths fogged in the crisp air and Tom glanced both ways down the barren avenue before retaking her hand and going left. She stayed close when they passed an alleyway filled with flickering shadows, the scent of gin, and rusty laughter.

The few shops out here in no man's land had gone out of business, their windows blacked out and barred by wood planks to keep away thieves; that is, all except for one shifty pub, which stood – or kind of slanted, seeing as half the roof had caved in under the burden of a colossal fallen tree branch – lonely and fragile, as if it would buckle at the slightest shift of wind. They came to a halt outside it and Tom tapped the doorknob with his wand, unlocking it. She cautiously followed him inside.

The interior wasn't any better than the outside. The bar was dimly-lit, set with moth-eaten furniture, and, of course, plenty of beer which presently went around to raucous customers. No one looked up at their arrival and Hermione was glad. She didn't want to be on the other end of these men's wandering eyes and crude jokes. Their bulging biceps, yellowed teeth, and drawn, soot-smeared faces were enough of an imposing combination alone.

Tom didn't seem to pick up on this.

"Get a booth. I'll be back with drinks," he said, heading to the bar to order drinks. Hermione stared after him, a little miffed he didn't consider what could happen to an unescorted girl at a shady bar in 1943 England and still annoyed he wouldn't tell her anything. With a heavy sigh, she started to search for seats regardless. A table in the back with three chairs and no apparent leftover food or stale liquor soaking the surface caught her eye.

Good enough.

She walked back there quickly, ignoring it when a group of factory workers wolf whistled and made rude gestures at her. "'ey, love!" one shouted, leaning forward to catch her wrist. "Want te warm a _real_ gent's bed tenight?"

"No thank you," Hermione said, snatching her hand back. The men sniggered.

"Gotcha self a feisty one there, eh, Leo…"

She sat down, avoiding eye contact with any other patrons, and impatiently waited for Tom to get back. She didn't take off her cloak either, although it was plenty warm in the pub. Hermione couldn't help but notice how out of place Tom looked here with his pressed robes and striking good looks. The customers eating in the din stared.

Suddenly, the chair across from her screeched over the wooden floor and Hermione looked up to find one of the men from before plop down in it. Calluses roughened the palms of his large hands and he smiled at her goofily, eyes cloudy with drink and mischief.

"Hello," she said warily.

"Name's Tony," he announced, thrusting forward a meaty hand. She didn't shake it. "Alright, alright, be _ah-loof_, it's fine." He adjusted his newsy boy cap. "I always like me a good chase."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Tony?"

"Well, it's not often we sees us a fine girl like yourself in here," he said, winking, "and I jus' wondered if I could get your name, pretty lady."

"I don't think so," she said curtly. "You see, I'm here with someone, so if you wouldn't mind leaving before he gets here-"

"What? Who?" He straightened, head snapping around alertly. His mates on the other side of the pub, watching, erupted into hearty laughter. "Got ye a boyfriend or somefin?"

"No, he's her brother," said a smooth voice from behind them. Hermione – and Tony – whipped around to see Tom take a seat, all grace and poise. _Brother? _Hermione thought, bewildered. What was Tom up to?

Her 'brother' put down three mugs of what smelled like alcohol but looked like brack water and extended a pale hand to Tony. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance…?"

"Tony Marshall." Tony shook the outstretched hand and eyed Tom and Hermione suspiciously. "You two don' look alike at all, ye know."

"We're half siblings," Tom supplied smoothly. "Would you like a drink?"

Immediately, any skepticism showing on Tony's blotchy red face vanished, and he swiped one of the beers off the tray without pause. "Say, what's your sister's name?" he asked, grinning at Hermione suggestively, who scowled and looked away.

"Angela," Tom said, smiling. "I'm Victor Livingston."

"So what are ye two doing round these parts? Look like city folks to me."

"Just visiting some old friends… and making a bit of money." Tom slid his cup toward Tony. "Another?"

"Sure, chap," Tony said, looking surprised by the offer but glad to down another. His gaze was foggier when he finished beer number two. Conspicuously, he stared at Hermione's chest and licked his chin, but missed the bead of brown liquid dribbling there. "Say, what are you up te tenight, angel? Need a place to go?"

Angrily, Hermione spat, "No actually, I'll be just fine alone, you-"

"_Angela," _Tom interrupted, laughing. "Be polite to our new friend."

She stared at him disbelievingly. "What?"

"Yeah, listen to ye brother and be nice to me, Angie!" Tony joined in, chortling. "Or else it'll be a looong night, won't it, Vic?"

"Indeed," Tom said solemnly. Hermione's eyes widened at this, sourness sinking through her stomach like curdled milk. _What is he-? _"How much have you got?"

"Bout fifteen shillings. How long will that get me?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes! What kinda wager is 'at?"

"She's upper class, remember?" Tom said, lifting Hermione's wrist and gently pulling his lips across the back. She knew better than to pull away, although all she wanted to do was give him a good punch in the nose. "Worth a hundred common whores."

She gasped. "How dare you-"

"Quiet," he snapped, glaring at her. A frigid smile slowly curved his mouth. "Your brother is doing business."

Tony watched them with heavy-lidded eyes. He picked his crooked front teeth with a toothpick, deliberating. "I gotta better idea," he finally said. "Why don't I pay to see _ye_ two bang it up? Just to watch."

Hermione blinked, stunned, and a glint of surprise glanced through Tom's dark eyes too before the emotion gave way to blankness once more. He arched a brow. "Voyeurism?"

"Call it whatevah ye please," Tony said, shrugging. "Point is, I want my money's worth," he added stupidly, "and you want money."

"You'll have to pay more."

"Damn you! Bleeding uppity city ki-"

"I didn't finish," Tom cut in patiently. "You'll have to pay more… in answers. Answer a few questions and that, plus the shillings, will cover fifteen minutes of our time."

"_What?" _Hermione clambered to her feet, but Tom discreetly cast a Stinging Hex at her and she fell back down with a hiss of pain. Underneath the table, his hand fastened around her wrist painfully tight. Pained tears pooled in her eyes and she squirmed, glowering at him and sending a Stinging Hex right back. He flinched almost imperceptibly, but otherwise ignored her.

Tony glanced between them, debating. "Are these test questions? Cause I don't know squat about no math or reading or-"

"No, they're simple," Tom interrupted sharply. "So do we have a deal?"

"Sure." Hermione blanched and Tony rummaged through his pockets, producing a tattered pouch of money Tom had almost taken when the young man pulled it back suddenly, as if something had occurred to him. Tom's fingers closed around empty air and anger betrayed him for a second, running through his fine features like a bone knife. He forced a smile.

"Yes?" Tom said expectantly, a trickle of irritation underlying his melodious voice.

"I want to make sure ye two will really do this and won' skip out on me," Tony said, crossing muscly arms over a barrel chest to impress his great strength on them. He was brawny, Hermione thought, but couldn't be a day over twenty-one. "So give me a lil taste of what I be seein.'" He leered at her. "Go on Angie, give ye brother a good _lipsmack_."

Repulsed, Hermione said, "You can't make me do anything, slime ball."

He wheezed a snicker and Tom muttered something under his breath in exasperation. He grabbed her hair, yanking her toward him and tightening his grip painfully tight until she could _hear_ strands of hair snapping off her scalp. She shrieked in outrage and Tony's booming laughter got louder as she wrestled him. Tom shook his head patronizingly. "I apologize," he said. "She's a bit of a hellcat."

"Oh no, Vic, that makes it all the better," Tony assured.

Tom lifted Hermione's head so she faced him. His smile was charming, but his eyes were the complete opposite: cold and threatening as she stared back at him. His magic, which had always been like an addictive drug to her and the most concentrated form of ecstasy – now acted punishingly, hashing through her body like a hard slap. She yelped.

"Don't hurt her too bad, Vic," Tony said good-naturedly. "Play nice."

"Of course," he agreed, but didn't take his chilling gaze off Hermione. "You heard the man, _Angie. _Give your brother a kiss."

At these words, something occured to Hermione. It suddenly occurred to her that…that_ of __course_ Tony wasn't going to see any 'show' tonight. Tom had no intention to do so, and neither did she. They would lead him on - until Tom got whatever it was he wanted from the country goon – and then leave this oaf right here where they found him. She had, for a moment, simply forgotten what Tom Riddle was.

A liar.

"Yes, Victor," she said, her demeanor shifting from hateful to obliging in the blink of an eye. Tony shifted his trousers as Angie lightly grasped her brother Victor's shoulders.

Hermione didn't look away from Tom's dark gaze and kissed him, entangling their tongues and communicating with her eyes that she knew what he was up to - that he was in a world of trouble when they got out of there. His eyes laughed at her and – out of Tony's sight – his hand swept under her cloak, rubbing her leg. She slapped it off and he pulled away, biting back a smile.

Tony thrust the bag of money at them. "Deal!"

Tom looked pleased. "Very well." He counted out the coins inside before pocketing it. Across from them, Tony literally itched with anticipation. "Now for the questions."

"Yes, go ahead," the man pushed, glancing at Hermione quickly. "Let's get it over with fast, eh?"

"Of course." Tom steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Angie, go get us a few shots of gin, won't you?" he said, flipping a few shillings at her.

She frowned, but stood. "Sure, Victor," she said, morosely. He wasn't going to even let her listen in on the conversation?

Hermione sat at the bar, not placing an order even when the barman asked. She drummed her nails against the pock-marked surface of the bar as she anxiously waited. Fifteen minutes later, Tom emerged from the shady recesses of the pub. Tony was not with him.

He nodded at her on his way to the door and she sprang up, going after him. The sky was blotchy with smog and starless as they walked down the street. "You couldn't have warned me beforehand?" she said, but there was hardly any bite left in her voice now. What she _really _wanted to know was what he was up to.

Tom laughed quietly. "It wouldn't have been authentic if I told you I was planning to sell you off," he said. "The men down here like a girl who…resists."

"That's sick. And what was with the sibling thing?" she fired off. "You could've just said we were friends or something, rather than get all disgusting."

"Ever heard of sexual preference? Tony's got a fetish for voyeurism. Maybe _I_ liked the idea of role play and doing bad things with my smart-mouthed sister…"

"Don't say anymore," Hermione interrupted. "I think I'd rather not know."

He sniggered and slipped an arm around her waist, snatching her to his side. "I didn't mean to taint your innocent mind," he murmured into her ear. "You were quite a good accomplice in there, too, you know. Tony was dying to see Angela and her brother naked."

"Tony is a _pervert_," she corrected sharply. "What he needs is a good slap."

He brought them to a halt in the middle of the dusty road. So far, Hermione had not seen any road signs offering light on their mystery location. "Which I'm sure you would have been all too willing to give him," Tom said, amused. "Ready to go?"

"Where?"

He tsked. "No matter how many times you ask, I won't tell, silly witch." He pulled her into his side, sliding his fingers through hers. "You'll find out soon enough anyway."

The nausea that came hand-in-hand with Disapparation briefly overcame Hermione before both their feet hit the ground, not landing on beaten cement this time but sinking into wet snow. She blinked, trying to see through the darkness to find out where he'd taken them this time, but it was to no avail. Whether she was able to see or not there was nothing _to _see. They were in the middle of nowhere on a lone hill and ankle-deep in chilly white slush. She shivered, drawing her cloak tighter. "It's freezing!" she complained. "Why are we here?"

Tom's pale skin glowed in the night, almost as white as the flurries busily whizzing through the air all around them and the moonlight feebly glaring through the dark. His eyes were trained on something in the distance. "He said to take a left," he muttered. "It should be over there."

_What should be over there? _Hermione wanted to demand, but knew better than to continue battering him with questions he simply wouldn't answer. Wherever he intended to take them, it better be someplace warm, she thought.

"Come, please," he said sharply and proceeded to carve a walkway through the snow with their magic, lighting the way with a nonverbal _Lumos. _Hermione lit her wand too and trudged after him.

As the two descended down the wintry slope Hermione spotted what lay ahead. It was a small cottage – more of a hut, really – and so decrepit the very air seemed to be a terrible burden of weight on it, warping it so that it resembled a pathetic smile sliding into the earth. Vines of ivy roped over the caving wood paneling, the only things holding the thing together probably, and something thin and stringy was nailed to the door. She felt chilled just looking at it.

"Tom, what are we doing here?" she asked when they stopped before the hut.

"Why, we're paying my uncle a well overdue visit, darling," he replied, and as he answered he reached into his cloak, an ironic smile curving his mouth.

Hermione stiffened, now recognizing the house. And it hit her, that this was the House of Gaunt, belonging to Tom's dead grandfather and his still-living uncle Morfin, once to his mother Merope even. It was the place where he made his first Horcrux – and the Locket around her neck proved exactly what he intended to do tonight.

She tried to run, but Tom was quick as a cobra and caught her around the waist, yanking her back.

"Let me go!" she yelled and the glint of something reflective – glass? – sparkled in her peripherals right before the lip of a potion bottle was shoved into her mouth. She kicked out, trying to throw it up, but he held her convulsing body tighter until the last of oxygen squeezed out of her lungs and she was forced to inhale. Potion rushed down her throat.

"Sssh, darling, sssh," he said softly as she oh so slowly slumped in his arms. He caressed the tip of his yew wand over her neck, sweeping it back and forth. "Don't cry now, Hermione, it's nothing lethal. There's no reason to be afraid."

He carried her over to some hedges framing the house and laid her down, hiding her underneath the twigs and bramble, arranging them so that if someone passed by they would never see what was buried in the Gaunt's front yard. The blizzard whipped his black hair and he paused to stare down at her frozen body for a moment. "You should know better than to run though," he said, thinking aloud. "Even if you got away, I would've caught you eventually."

She glared back at him, unblinking.

He smiled. "But you know Little Hangleton men like it when a girl resists," he whispered.

And the brilliant violet light of his curse hit her dead-on.

* * *

**AN: Plot twist! *cackles in slow-mo* So, please, please leave a review because I'd love to hear what you have to say; be it good or hurtful. ;) Also, go on Youtube and check out _the Task _first official trailer, made by Voldewhore! The link is posted on my profile and it's really bitchin'.**

**Toodaloo, my loves!**


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